Fixation
by CjBennet
Summary: "A white van pulls up, CNN painted in red on the side. Her picture is going to be all over National Television. Dirty, thin, pale, and tired, shaking in the back of some ambulance while it snows." Extended Summary Within  Quinn/Santana NOT a pairing
1. Chapter 1

**Title:**** Fixation of the Teacher**

**(_Extended_) Summary:** _A white van pulls up, CNN painted in red on the side. Her picture is going to be all over National Television. Dirty, thin, pale, and tired, shaking in the back of some ambulance while it snows. The Quinn Fabray story will be on the front page of every paper and headline every newscast for the next week. __Everyone will know about it, but no one will ever really know. _

As for the Quinn/Santana listing thing, it's not a pairing; it's just like about both Quinn _and _Santana… like, separately. But, because I'm a sap, there's totally Brittana, and _maybe _eventual Faberry _maybe_.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee, yadda, yadda, yadda… rightfully belongs to the Fox Network and Ryan Murphy… more babble…. just borrowing them… blah, blah, blah… this kinda junk better not actually happen on my happy go lucky show, got it?

_**A/N:** For those of you who read my first story (Sunshine World) know that, despite any similarities in character names (really, do I have to re-name their families every time?) or past events, these two stories DO NO go together… at all. There WILL be a sequel to that, but this isn't it. That story was, like, a cotton-candy level of fluff, this isn't. They are completely different tones and everything. Seriously, if I add that much fluff to this story something is terribly wrong with me... ANYWAYS I'm super excited for this brand new story, it was incredibly hard to write and took like… three whole nights, and I have no idea why. I'm going on vacation for a week, I'll have my computer, but I'm unsure about internet, so let's consider this a "teaser" for now and I'll post more when I'm home, until then - please continue, read, review (if you want- any suggestions are helpful) and enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter One: **

It's snowing again. Big fluffy white puffs of snow drifted slowly from the sky, scattering across the ground in a thin blanket of white. It's almost serene. _Almost. _After all, it was snowing the last time she was outside too, how could she find it peaceful now?_  
_

Holding out her hand, Quinn watches closely as the gathered flakes almost immediately melt away to tiny droplets of water on her skin. She can't help but feel somewhat similar. Just a few short months ago she'd finally managed to get her life somewhat back together, and she'd readily enjoyed the peace that came along with it. But now it was all falling apart again. Gone. Faster than snowflakes could melt. Letting her hand fall limply to her lap, she shivered in the cold, idly wondering why God insisted on putting her through so much, again and again. She just wanted it to be over.

Cop cars and ambulances are parked hap-hazardously along the curb. The tiny street is crowded with flashing red and blue lights and sirens, but she barely hears them, they sound muffled and far away. She barely hears anything. The only clear sound she hears are her own unanswered screams from the last week echoing in her head. A man rushes towards where she's sitting, he says something, but she doesn't respond, she barely even looks at him. Without further question, he scoops her up into her strong arms and turns towards the street, EMT is printed on the front pocket of his shirt. She wants to scream and twist out of his grasp, but she's just too tired and lets him carry her into the bright and warm back cab of the waiting ambulance instead. She looks over his shoulder at the little gray house at the end of the street. It had once been so inviting and lively. Now it was surrounded in yellow police tape. As the EMT sets her gently down on the gurney, checking her pulse and temperature, she watches as various police officers rush in and out of the house, carrying little baggies full of bits of evidence.

Bits of her.

One second the EMT was there, poking and prodding, and the next he was leaving her without a word, sitting alone on the stretcher with the doors wide open, as he rushed off to speak with somebody in the distance. There's a white flash that leaves her momentarily blinded. She blinks away the spots and looks over. There's another flash. Reporters. Coach Sylvester always said they were the filth of the Earth. Bottom feeders sustaining themselves off the woes and triumphs of others because they were too mundane to afford any for themselves. _They can make you or break you, Q, so always be on their good side_. But, right then, she couldn't muster up the will to even try. She watches blankly as an officer appears out of nowhere, forcing the man with the camera back, shouting for someone to round up the rest of them behind the barricade. "_This isn't a goddamn circus, people_!" She recognizes some of their faces from their local news station, others are unfamiliar. A white van pulls up, CNN painted in red on the side. Her picture is going to be all over National Television. Dirty, thin, pale, and tired, shaking in the back of some ambulance while it snows. The Quinn Fabray story will be on the front page of every paper and headline every newscast for the next week. Everyone will know about it, but no one will ever really know.

From what she can tell, most of the neighbors are outside. She can see groups of them crowded behind the police barricade. They're huddle together in small groups, watching and whispering to each other. They're clad in their robes and slippers, some have cameras, others have mugs of coffee. God, what she wouldn't do for some nice, hot, coffee right then. They stand on their toes and crane their necks, trying to see what their TVs aren't showing them, only their TVs are showing everything. Nothing like this has ever happened in Lima before, they're _freaken _Lima, after all, the poorest excuse for a city in all of Ohio. News Casters are literally jumping over police lines, just to get some footage. It's like they think it's like some big show.

She knows it's going to be even worse at school.

She won't have any ambulance to hide in, or police officers to protect her, then. It'll just be her and a wide open hallway. They'll all be whispering behind her back for a second time, the students, the teachers, everybody, and they'll give her those _looks _again too, except, this time, they won't be judgmental, they'll be even worse. Pity. Just thinking about it makes her squirm, you pity those who are lower than you. She's freakin' Quinn Fabray, _nobody _is supposed to pity her.

Then, to her surprise, Mr. Schuester, of all people, suddenly appears by the open doors. He glances around awkwardly for a long moment before offering her a small smile. She attempts to return his gesture, but is sure it comes off more as a grimace.

"Hey, there, Quinn," he starts off slowly, his eyes drifting to his regrettably ugly brown loafers. She wonders what he's even doing there, and how he got there so fast. Then suddenly, she wonders how _everybody _got there so fast. When the police had found her, just twenty minutes ago, the ambulance and news reporters had already been there, crowds had already gathered, and, apparently, Mr. Schuester had already driven in from the other side of town. "I just wanted to see how," he hesitated, apparently realizing how lame he was sounding, "_we _wanted to know how you were holding up."

Quinn can only shrug her shoulders, no long really even listening as her mind continued to race. She knows she's missing something, she just can't figure out what it is. She's about to ask him when a loud shout from outside the ambulance draws Mr. Schuester's attention away. He leans around the door briefly before turning back to her, his jaw tight and gaze soft. Pity. She reaches over and pushes the door open a little further, to see for herself. It's her parents. They're together, but they fighting. She hadn't even known they were there. Leaning back, she nods as Mr. Schuester apologizes.

"No, Quinn, I _mean _it," he stops, and she lets herself really look at him, there are bags under his eyes and he's tearing up, "for everything, for before, for-"

She cuts him off with a shake of her head and a hoarse whisper, surprised at how much effort it takes to make even that, "It's okay, Mr. Schue. Really," she insists, "you didn't know." How could she blame _him _of all people? Nobody knew. She had trusted them too.

He nods his head slowly, looking down at the ground again. He's about to say something else when the EMT reappears, brushing by him like he's not even there, climbing into the back of the ambulance again. He busies himself with some equipment, only momentarily glancing over at Quinn, who's watching him closely. "We're about ready to transport you, Miss. They have a room already waiting for you at the hospital, they want to give you an exam-"

"They didn't _touch _me or anything," she insists loudly, and the EMT raises his eyebrows at the unexpected outburst. Quinn was even surprised with herself as she folded her hand neatly in her lap, biting her lower lip.

"It's just policy, Miss," he quickly insists, "just precaution," he's mumbling as he beings to tinker with the equipment again, she doesn't say anything else. "They'll need to run a few tests as well. But, barring any unexpected complications, it looks like you're going to make a full recovery. They'll probably release you in a few days, so there's a plus side, right Miss? The police will need your official statement too, so they're will be some officers waiting for you. Alright, Miss?"

"Quinn." Mr. Schuester suddenly interrupts, the EMT turns and gives him a funny look. Mr. Schuster ignores it and motions towards Quinn, "her _name _is Quinn."

"Alright, then, very well," the man glances at Mr. Schuester again, "_Quinn_, we're going to move out now then, ok?"

Mr. Schuester is about to excuse himself, when she reaches out with a small hand to stop him, "thank you, Mr. Shue." It was barely a whisper.

He gives her a sad, watery smile, patting her hand before nodding once, "anything."

"Could you-" she hesitates, hurriedly glancing around the confining space nervously, her voice small and shaky. "Could you, um," she looks down at her hands and sighs, "would you mind going and getting my mom for me?" the words rush from her mouth in a jumbled mess and her face burns red.

"Of course," he replies quickly.

Quinn watches as Mr. Schuester walks away, turning the collar of his coat up against the cold, the wind howling violently. He approaches her mother, who's now standing in front of a camera with a reporter and laughing. Actually _laughing_. He taps her shoulder and she waves him away without looking back, absorbed in her interview. Quinn can see him huff and square his shoulders. He glances back and catches her eye, Quinn just shakes her head and turns away. Just before the ambulance door closes, her mother arrives, her face flustered and slightly out of breath. "Here you are, Quinny," she replied cheerfully, sitting down beside her on the gurney, "I was looking all over for where they took you to."

"Ma'am-" Judy turned and smiled at the EMT, fluttering her eyelashes slightly.

"Please," she extended her hand, "call my Judy."

He dipped his head politely, but didn't move to accept her hand, "Judy, Ma'am, if you'd please take a seat over here," he gestured towards a plastic bench on the opposite wall from Quinn, "we can only have patients up there."

"Oh, but I'm her mother!" Judy insisted.

"Sorry, it's policy," he explained, "We can't leave until you're seated."

"Oh," she let out an exaggerated sigh, "very well." She patted Quinn's shoulder before standing up and making herself comfortable on the provided bench. "There, can we _please _go now?" The EMT nodded his head and reached out the back of the ambulance to close and secure the doors. Within seconds the ambulance lurched forward and they were on their way.

Brittany is sitting with Santana on the front porch step of old Mrs. Monroe's house, watching the flashing lights from a safe distance. They've both had enough excitement for one day. Santana is sitting on the first step, her knees bent to her chest, arms wrapped around them, Brittany sits on the step behind her, her arms around Santana's shoulders, holding the musty blanket Mrs. Monroe gave them to share in place. The slamming of the ambulance door catches Brittany's attention and she turns to look as it drives away. It backs up slowly, making a wide circle around the onlookers, and drives down the same route the one carrying her father, mother, and little sister took just an hour ago. She waves as it passes, like she had done when her family left, even though she knows Quinn probably won't be watching to see her, like Emily had been. After all, Quinn didn't even know they were there, she hadn't seen them the entire time she was parked outside of Mr. Sander's house, and they had been sitting _right there_. Although, she supposes, as she looks around at all of the police cars and people running up and down the street, they weren't doing very much to stand out.

As she continues to slowly wave at the disappearing ambulance, she notices someone else waving too, and he notices her. It's Mr. Schue. He looks away and she lets her arm fall, returning it to its place around Santana. Santana is shivering. She has been for the last twenty minutes. Every time Brittany asks if she wants to go inside, Santana just shakes her head, dark eyes steadily fixed on the cop cars on the far side of the street. So Brittany decides it's best to not ask again and just holds her close. She looks up from Santana to find Mr. Schue again, he's moving, but then he stops to talk to someone. Rachel. Half of the Glee club is standing behind her. She waves him goodbye and goes to join the others as he continues pushing through the crowd, heading in the direction of where he parked his little blue car at the end of the street.

But, as soon as he's free from the mass of people, he turns. Santana realizes it before Brittany does, and quickly buries herself a little further under the blanket, her cold fingers desperately searching for Brittany's.

"Hey, Brittany, Santana," he stuffs his hands in his pockets as he looked them over, making sure they're still intact. After what he saw on TV, he had to make sure for himself. After he's satisfied they're both indeed alive, he allows his gaze to drift to the yellow tape surrounding the house next door. Brittany follows his gaze to her house, frowning slightly. She would much rather be sleeping in her own bed tonight, or Santana's. But Santana's house, on the other side of Brittany's, has yellow tape around it too, and a broken front window. They'll be sharing the spare bed at Mrs. Monroe's instead.

"Hey, Mr. Schue," Brittany responds quietly. Santana doesn't say anything, but Mr. Schuester either doesn't notice, or just doesn't ask. He just steps out of her way as she leans slightly to see around his legs. Brittany sighs, she wished somebody would ask. Her parents, the police, Mrs. Monroe, anybody. She was starting to get seriously worried about her best friend. Santana _always _talked to her, when she's happy, sad, angry, _always_. And now she's just stopped. Shut down.

"I just wanted to check to see if you guys needed anything. I-I know your parents were taken to the hospital," he's looking right at Brittany, and she knows he can tell Santana isn't all there either. He gestures behind him vaguely, "the whole Glee Club is here for you, we know you've been through a lot. So, if you need someplace to stay, or-or clothes, they wanted to all come over, but I didn't know if it would be too much, so just I- came," he catches himself rambling and cuts off.

Brittany just shakes her head, giving him a small smile as she searches the for the Glee clubbers, but she can't find them anywhere, "Tell them we're ok, Mr. Schue," she wishes it wasn't a lie. "We're just going to go to sleep soon. Mrs. Monroe offered us her guest room," she clarifies, "and Santana's parents are going to be back on the first flight they can tomorrow. It's just hard, with all the snow."

"Yeah," he agrees with a sigh, shivering in the hollowing wind, "I heard a lot of flights had been grounded, the storm is supposed to get pretty bad." Brittany doesn't think pointing that out is very helpful and stands, dragging Santana up with her.

"I'm cold," she explains, to both Mr. Schue and Santana.

"Well, we're all here for you," he insists firmly, she nods her head again, "so, even if you just need to talk, don't hesitate to ask, alright?"

"No problem, Mr. Schue."

He smiles and nods slightly, "Ok, then, well, good night girls. We'll see you when you come back to school."

Brittany waits until Mr. Schuester is halfway back across the street before she turns to go inside, pulling Santana by the hand. Santana's fingers slip from Brittany's, and her shoulders slide from under the blanket as she remains rooted in her spot. It's cold, her toes are bare, and she's wearing nothing but a pair of Brittany's old pajama bottoms that are way too long and a tank top, but she doesn't want to go yet. She isn't ready. She has to see him. She feels Brittany step up beside her, her warm arms enveloping her and the blanket returning around her shoulder. Brittany looks out over Santana's head at the sea of people again, and they both wonder. Is he still out there?


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: _**_Guess what! Interstate rest-stops have internet! We've been in the car for a few hours and I was bored so I decided to work on this a bit and squeeze out an update before I get totally off the grid. I felt bad leaving you all hanging the other day… not that this will answer many of your questions. What we have here is the calm before the storm, tension build up, foreshadow, some more reasons for you to hate me for holding out- but if you pay attention you might pick up on a clue or two__ (I'm not a very subtle person, so bare with me if I fail). Oh, and I wanted to warn you- this is going to be a long and painful process. I have like 20 chapters planned so far (but don't let that stop you from making requests) and I'm not done yet. _

**_**_**_ALSO****** I was wondering if anybody would be interested in a little Faberry happening later on? It's usually not my cup of coffee, but I came up with an idea to make it happen that I really like. If no one is interested I can keep it purely platonic, no big deal, I just figured it might be fun to try something new, so let me know and I'll make it (or won't make it) happen! _

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Two:**

It was September, and Junior year had just started. They were just a week into classes, and their measly group of twelve original members had expanded to include a misfit sophomore and three freshmen straight off the middle school bus. Each was more talented than the last, but none, Rachel had adamantly declared, could hold a candle to her. Together, they rounded the Glee Club roster off at a solid sixteen total.

There were ten minutes left to spare before Glee was supposed to start, and most of the Gleeks were already present. With Mr. Schuester nowhere to be seen, the kids spread themselves across the choir room, happily chatting and catching up on the last two and a half months they'd missed of each other's lives. Of course, in high school, three months felt like years.

Rachel detangled herself from Finn's lap, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before practically skipping across the room to the two freshmen who had arrived early. They had squished themselves as far into far back corner as they possibly could without looking like they were actually trying to avoid the upper classmen, which, of course, they were. Both of their faces paled considerably when they realized Rachel was heading for them.

Hopping to a stop in front of the pair, she gave them each a wide, toothy, grin with an encouraging nod. "Hi!" she started off briskly. They responded with matching nervous smiles, sharing a quick glance back and forth before looking back at Rachel.

"Since we ran out of time after the auditions at the beginning of the week, I would like to take this opportunity to welcome you both to the Glee Club. I'm sure that you already know, but I'm Rachel Berry, and, as President, I think I speak for everyone when I thank you for your time, effort, and further contribution for our team. I believe that you both are going to make an excellent contribution to the Glee Club, and that, if we all continue to work hard and pull our own weight, that we will have a real chance at beating Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals this year and making it to Nationals."Without giving either girl a second to respond, Rachel turned heel and marched back to where she was sitting with with the others before, simply leaving them with their mouths hanging open.

Kurt and Quinn, who had been sitting closest to the now scared witless girls, shared a look as Rachel passed and promptly burst out laughing. Rachel paused to spare them a short glare before turning on her happy way, her nose pointed in the air.

"Those poor girls," Kurt giggled, shaking his head as he glanced back over his shoulder at them. Their heads were together and they were whispering frantically, apparently arguing. Kurt was sure he heard one saying they knew joining this stupid club was a bad idea and that they all must be crazy if _that _girl was their president. He was about to interrupt when his phone suddenly let out a loud buzz from somewhere in his satchel.

Quinn watched Kurt hurriedly searching through the contents of his bag for his still vibrating phone with mild interest. She had moved back home with her mother at the end of the previous year, she hadn't seen her father since June, but besides for that, it was almost like life was back to normal. She had even been reinstated as a Cheerio, and now proudly sat, prim and proper, in her old uniform once again. "Alright," she demanded, "_who_ have you been texting all day?" she leaned over to steal a look at his phone's screen, but he quickly maneuvered it out of her sight with a sly grin.

"That is for _me _to know, and you to wonder about," he quipped quickly. She rolled her eyes, suppressing another laugh as she turned away to her own phone. "Well, ok," Kurt let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning forward excitedly, "if you're going to be _that _persistent about it, I'll tell you. But you absolutely must keep it a secret, ok?"

Nodding, she leaned in, her eyes going wide as he whispered into her ear. "No way!" she practically shouted, he gave her a warning look before smiling slightly, indicating that she had, indeed, heard right. She leaned in again, whispering harshly, "who? Do I know him?"

Santana was watching the disgustingly close pair, too lost in their own little pathetic world to notice her, from her usual spot next to Brittany in the back row. Apparently Quinn, Kurt, and Mercedes had spent the majority of the summer together and were now practically attached at the hip, like some mutated three headed creature. Santana scoffed at the idea of those three walking the halls together.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she scowled, narrowing her eyes and mumbling to herself under her breath. Yet again, she was second best, and she absolutely loathed her sometimes friend for it. Quinn wasn't Captain, but she might as well be. At the beginning of the semester, and upon seeing that Quinn had regained her pre-baby gate form, Coach Sylvester had immediately welcomed her back onto the team with open arms. And now she was like the god damn prodigal daughter or some shit. Forget that it was _Santana _who had taken the Cheerios to nationals the year before.

Brittany could literally feel the waves of tension rolling off her friend beside her, and did her best to encourage the others just to leave her alone, promising that she'd be back to normal in just a few days.

"Oh, yeah," Mercedes responded sarcastically, "like _that's _something to look forward to." Laughing, Tina quickly agreed. Brittany frowned and was about to protest when Mercedes suddenly reeled around to face Rachel, who was rather loudly reciting a rather long list of songs that she had picked out over the summer that she would like for them to perform to Finn, because they _all _perfectly fit her vocal range and she had been practicing them all from obscenely young age.

As Mercedes and Rachel began to argue over who deserved more solos, and Kurt jumping in half way through, Artie wheeled into the room and stopped beside Brittany and Tina, only sparing a short glance at their three resident Divas. "Hey, guys," he greeted, and both girls smiled, "Tina, have you met the new advanced math teacher year?" he asked, setting his bag down on the ground beside him. Tina shook her head.

"Oh, you mean Mr. Sanders?" Brittany asked, the others glanced at her confused. She shrugged her shoulders, "he moved in on my street. He seems nice."

Artie nodded his head, "Yeah, well he invited my whole class to his house to meet his wife and swim in their pool whenever we want. Isn't that a bit _too _nice?"

"That's a stupid thing to promise," Quinn retorted from the other side of the room with a flip of her hair, "we live in _Ohio_, it barely gets hot enough to swim in the summer. How long is their pool even going to be open for?"

"You don't think it's creepy?" Artie queried.

Mercedes turned to Artie with a wide grin, ignoring his second question "you guys mean that guy who moved into room 403, right? I'd be _all over_ a pool party at his place. I don't have him, but have you _seen _him? That man is what I call capital-F _fine_!"

"Really?" that caught Puck's attention, and he spun around in his chair, leaning over the back, "_how _fine?" Mercedes gave him a funny look.

"Dude!" Finn exclaimed, smacking Puck in the shoulder with the back of his hand, "are you coming out to us?" then he gave him a goofy grin, "I'm so proud."

"What?" Puck was genuinely confused for a moment, looking around at everyone staring at him, then he caught Kurt's disbelieving stare and it made sense. "Ah! No!" he insisted, jumping up from his chair, Finn laughed, shaking his head. Puck waited until the girl's had gone back to their conversation about Mr. what's-his-face before sitting back down and leaning towards Finn, whispering, "if the dude's hot, then his wife's gotta be hot too!" he explained, Finn thought it over for a minute before nodding his head, it made sense. "If they let me clean their pool, I'll tag-team it with you?" he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Noah!" Rachel gaped, jumping up from the opposite side of Finn and immediately throwing her arms around his shoulders possessively, "Don't be a pig! Finn is a gentlemen, he would never take advantage of a legitimate business opportunity just to-to," she searched her vocabulary for the right words, "to get _some_!"

Puck was unfazed by Rachel's over the top bashing and shrugged his shoulders in response, leaning back in his chair and smiling smugly, "well, that's more for me then."

"Alright, everyone, settle down, it's time to get started," Mr. Schuester called as he entered the room, dropping off a messy pile old books and packets of paper on the lid of the piano. He paused to go a quick head count, making sure everyone was accounted for as they all quieted down. "As you all know, we have our first performance coming up in a few weeks, and we need to work on some ideas for what we're going to perform. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

Rachel's hand immediately shot up and Mercedes let out a low groan, rolling her eyes, "Oh, _hell _no, what did we just talk about?"

Mr. Schuester sighed and took a chair, it was going to be a long practice.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: _**_So the most non-funny thing every happen, my lovely mother decided to extend our vacation an extra week. Then, low and behold- two days after returning (aka, the day before yesterday) I had to pack up and move back to school. But now I'm unpacked and back in full swing- I have a few chapters for tonight, and another will probably be up tomorrow. Sorry for being AWOL for so long, thanks for sticking with me!_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Three:**

Despite a particularly gruesome spat in front of the majority of McKinley's student body with "one Sue Sylvester" in the hallways just minutes before, Will Schuester walked into the teacher's lounge on Monday afternoon with his head held high and a ridiculously wide smile on his face.

The Glee Club had performed on Sunday night for the first time that year and it had ended up being a real big hit. All of the kids performed excellently, even their four newbies, everyone else was getting better, they were flowing better as a team, and things were finally starting to look up for them. Figgins had even pulled Will aside afterwards and suggested they put on another performance in a few weeks- how about that for recognition!

The kids were still complaining that they were at the very bottom of the proverbial high-school food chain, of course, and with the infamous slushie-facials still being a regular morning occurrence for most of them, he couldn't really say that he disagreed, but he knew it was only a matter of time now before he would be able to restore Glee's rightful place back at the top. Just like it had been in his glory days when he walked the halls of McKinley.

He took his usual table at the center of the room and looked around at all the faculty present, pulling out a sandwich from his brown paper bag. Searching the sea of faces for a particular red-head, he was only mildly surprised to not find her anywhere. Emma seemed to be avoiding him a lot lately. He assumed it had something to do with that dentist she was still seeing, but he also knew she could just be busy. Begrudgingly, he took a bite into his deli-meat and sighed.

"Hey, do you, uh…" Will looked up at the flustered man standing awkwardly on the opposite side of the table, gesturing towards the empty chair in front of him, "do you mind if I sit here?"

Struggling to swallow the dry bread, Will shook his head. "No," he finally managed after a labored second, "not at all, go right ahead." A little company _would _be nice, even if it wasn't with Emma.

The man grinned and took the seat. "Gee, thanks," he replied sincerely. "It's just so embarrassing," he confided as he leaned in with a quick glance around at the other teachers going about their own business around them, "I never know where it's ok to sit. And it's so nerve-wracking to ask. I swear, it's just like the first day of high school all over again!"

Will looked him over closely as the man began to eagerly dig through his own paper bag for his lunch; he had mused up sandy blonde hair, startling blue eyes that were impossible not to notice, and an easy smile- the classic American golden-boy. "You're the new math teacher right?" Will finally recognized the face, "You took over for Mrs. DuPont when she retired last year."

"Yup," he replied around a mouthful of chips, "the name is Henry, it's nice to meet you."

Will took the offered hand with a smile, shaking it firmly, "I'm Will Schuester, I teach Spanish and mentor the school's Glee Club."

"Ooh!" Henry's eyes went wide, "you guys did that show this weekend, right?" Will nodded his head, "My wife and I came and saw it- you guys did a really great job!"

"Really?" things were going even better than he thought, "you think so?"

Henry nodded enthusiastically again, "Definitely! Lisa, that's my wife," he explained off handedly, "she's totally into all that stuff. When we lived in New York she used to drag me into The City to see that kind of stuff all the time. So I was reluctant, being in Ohio I thought I might have escaped all the show tunes, but it ended up not being too bad.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," Will looked him over again. Henry didn't look very much like any of the other math teachers in the school, he was far too young, he looked like he should still be _in _high school himself, "how long have you been teaching?"

"I'm just starting, this is my first year," Henry replied quickly, wiping a bit of mayonnaise off his cheek with the back of his hand, "I got certified in New York, but the state boards for Ohio weren't much different, I was lucky."

"Oh," Will shook his head, "I didn't mean at McKinley, I meant in general."

Henry nodded, "So did I. My distant, some odd amount of times removed, cousin works at the middle school and told my mother about an opening coming up here in the math department and she let me know. There weren't many opportunities where I did my Teacher-Assisting grad work, so I moved out here to see for myself. You gotta take what you can get in this economy, right? And I really didn't want to move South."

Will sighed with an empathetic nod, "I understand _that _for sure. You know," he added thoughtfully, "I even did part-time as a janitor last year."

"No way!" Henry exclaimed, "Well, I hope we never get quite that desperate, but I guess you never know."

"At first I didn't want anyone to know, but now it's kind of a joke," Will admitted with a shrug, "but, like you said, you do what you have to." His gaze drifted over Henry's head and towards the door, where Emma just walked through. She flashed him a nervous smile and he eagerly waved her over. "Henry," he stated as she approached, Henry looked up, "this is Emma Pillsbury, she's the school's guidance counselor."

She gave him a quick grin and a small polite nod as she took her seat to the right of Will, "Nice to see you again, Henry."

"You guys know each other?" Will did very little to hide his surprise.

Emma answered quickly, "Yes. We met last week. Principal Figgins suggested that Henry help me with the SAT-prep classes after school for this term.

"Oh," Will was oddly relieved, "I think that's a great idea."

"You know what would be even better?" Henry piped up after watching the odd exchange, "if you could help us out too."

Will gave him a confused look, "But I teach Spanish. The SATs are just math, reading, and writing, right?" he looked to Emma for conformation, she nodded.

"Yeah, but…" Henry hesitated for a moment, "but what if you and your Glee kids could come up with some study songs? He asked quickly. "Just the other day I heard one of the history teachers complaining that kids these days could remember the words to hundreds of songs, but couldn't list half the Presidents.

"It's true. The patterns in music make it easier for kids to recall information. I think that would be a wonderful idea," Emma agreed eagerly, "don't you think, Will?" she asked hopefully, looking right at him with her big brown eyes.

Will hardly even thought about it for a second before he felt himself nodding in agreement, "Sounds good. I'll see what I can get them to come up with and let you know."

"Lisa and I are having a BBQ with some of our neighbors this weekend, you guys can join us and we can see what you've come up with then, if you like. It's supposed to be the last night day before autumn sets in too; you could even invite the kids to use our pool one last time before we close it up for the season. Lisa would love to tell them how much she enjoyed their show."

"Yeah?" Will asked, Henry nodded, "Great, I bet they'll love that. I'll let them know and we'll get started right away."

"Perfect!" Henry grinned.

…

Saturday came with a warm breeze fighting off the autumn chill for one last sunny summer day with the smell of sizzling burgers and a charcoal fire filling the air. Henry and Lisa eagerly welcomed half their neighborhood into their fenced in backyard and greeted Will and Emma with the rest of them. Lisa immediately latched onto Will, introducing herself before going off about how much she loved the performance and wished there would be more. Emma watched idly on, making small chit-chat with Henry before he chased the small children away from the fire with a spatula. She stood awkwardly near the back door until several faces she recognized appeared around front.

"Oh, hello Miss Pillsbury," Rachel Berry greeted with a smile on her face as she lead the rest of Glee Club into the cheerful house.

Ten short minutes later, Rachel was screaming as Puck shoved her, still fully clothed, into the deep end of the large in-ground pool. Nearly landing right on top of Tina's head as she finished racing with Mike and Brittany, Rachel let out one last gurgled scream before her head and flailing arms disappeared under the surface.

Finn's outrage could be heard over the music, "Dude!" he yelled, jabbing a finger at Puck, who was grinning proudly from the opposite side of the pool, "_so _not cool," he declared firmly before whipping his top off and diving in head first to rescue her.

Puck, still grinning, only offered a quick shrug of his shoulders in apology as Finn resurfaced with Rachel clinging to his chest. Kurt, appalled, and soaked from head to toe in his perfectly matched ensemble of designer wear, approached Puck in a huff with the most disgruntled look on his bright red face. He angrily jabbed a slim finger into Puck's chest, bursting into a tangent about how Puck was a Neanderthal, amongst other, slightly more unmentionable, things, only to receive a bark of laughter in response as Puck asked whether he would like to be thrown in head, or feet, first.

Quinn laughed from the lawn char beside the sun bathing Santana, watching as Brittany launched herself onto the unsuspecting Finn's back, trying, quiet unsuccessfully, to dunk him back under the water after he finished helping Rachel out of the pool. Mike eagerly joined Brittany in her valiant efforts against the taller football player, and soon the three of them were splashing around in a tangled pile in attempt to keep their head above water as Finn's feet finally slipped out from under him.

Mr. Schue, standing a bit too close to the pool, ended up with his pant legs soaked up to his knees. With a regrettably girly yelp, he jumped away in surprised. "Hey! Come on guys," he pleaded, "settle down, would you?"

Finn offered him a sheepish grin as Brittany and Mike scurried away before he had the chance to enact his revenge. "Sorry, Mr. Schue," he replied lamely, looking only the least bit apologetic.

Will rolled his eyes and turned away from the laughing group of teenager with a shrug of his shoulders to Henry, going back to their conversation about who the club had been put up against for Sectional's this year, and how it was looking like a much more difficult crowd than the last time, even with the cheating that had happened.

Lisa walked out of the house with a spare towel in hand, passing her husband and Will, while making her way over to Rachel. Rachel was sitting on the edge of the pool, muttering angrily to herself and shooting dark glances at Puck every few second, who was much too busy flirting with the older ladies present to notice her. "Here you go, Dear," she offered gently.

Rachel glanced up for a second before taking the towel, and automatically replying "Thank you."

Suddenly, Santana shot up from beside Quinn and dashed across the other side of the backyard as Puck began to approach her mother with a sly grin plastered on his face. "I swear to god!" she yelled, jabbing him hard in the shoulder with her fist, "if you so much as _look _at her funny, I _will _castrate you. Hands off, Puckerman."

"Well, you are all certainly a lively bunch," Lisa commented kindly as she took the vacated lounge chair.

Quinn laughed and looked up from her magazine, "you have no idea. This is them on a good day."

"Really?" Quinn nodded, "I find that lovely. Most of the time teenagers just mope around. I'm Henry's wife, by the way," Lisa greeted, holding out her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sanders, I'm Quinn."

"Oh!" Lisa gasped, "Quinn, Dear, please call me Lisa. Can I tell you how much I loved your show last weekend? You were all absolutely fabulous, and you have a lovely voice. It was so cute, and such a refreshment from the same old shows I used to go see all the time."

"You used to see a lot of shows?" Quinn echoed, Lisa nodded her head and began to list the various shows she'd 'dragged' Henry to.

"But, if you ask me, he enjoyed it more than I did," she joked with a cheeky grin, Quinn giggled, "seriously, watching men in tights? The best thing for other guys, they _love _it."

Henry, oblivious to his wife's bashing, walked out of the kitchen with a plate full of raw burgers, finally ready to throw them on the fire. "I tell you what, Will, I make a mean burger," he bragged, "do you two want with cheese or without?"

Emma starred at the burnt bits of char stuck on the grill for a long moment before managing to shake her head, quickly explaining that she wasn't hungry. After burgers, most of the neighborhood retreated back to their homes as the afternoon wore on.

Not five minutes after they were done helping clean up and just about to jump back into the pool, a dark cloud rolled in over head and a loud crack of lightening had them all running inside for cover as the storm let loose and rain fell from the sky. "Well," Puck huffed, glancing at the others who were starring out the back window, "this is great."

"I'm really sorry," Lisa apologized immediately, her face all torn up with guilt, "the weather man called for clear skies all day."

"No, no, it's ok," Will assured quickly, "it was nice enough for you to offer the kids the pool in the first place, it's not your fault the weather didn't hold out. Don't you think guys?" he shot them a face, hoping they'd catch on.

"Maybe we can keep the pool open a little longer?" Lisa offered, glancing to Henry who shrugged his shoulders, "let's see if we get another good weekend out before it gets cold."

Puck rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, "Yeah whatever, well I'm heading home."

"Oh," Henry stepped forward, "I'd prefer it if you kids called your folks for a ride, I wouldn't feel right making you walk in this storm."

"I've got my truck," Puck replied honestly, "Finn?" he called.

Finn glanced over at Kurt, "you ready?" Kurt nodded his head and gathered his bag, Puck mumbled something under his breath but didn't otherwise object as he led the two other boys out the front door.

"Does anyone need to borrow our phone?" Henry asked glancing over at the rest.

Quinn raised her hand from the back of the group, "my mom won't be able to come get me."

"Oh, well, I can give you a ride home, Quinn," Will offered.

She shook her head, "Thanks, but you live on the other side of town, Mr. Schue, I couldn't really impose. I don't live that far, I can walk."

"Don't be ridiculous, Henry and I can drive you home. We haven't got anything else to do, have we, Henry?" Lisa asked hopefully, he looked over from where he was talking the phone back from Mike as he held it out.

"My Parents will be here soon," Mike explained simply

"Really," Will shook his head, "I can't ask you to do that, you guys have already been generous enough, Quinn's my responsibility."

"But I insist," Lisa argued, "it's really not that big of a deal. And I don't want her walking in the rain, she'll get sick."

Santana scoffed from the other side of the room, "You're all being retarded," she snapped, Mr. Schue gave her a hard look and Emma looked like she was about to say something, but she ignored them both, "Quinn can just come home with Brittany and me, we live right up the street. Right Britt?" she asked, looping her arm through her best friend's.

Brittany grinned and nodded her head, "O, _yeah_, Quinn used to come over loads when we were younger, it's no big deal."

"Well, if you guys are sure your parents won't mind," Will nodded in agreement.

"Mr. Schue," Rachel piped up, separating herself from the others, "my dad's will be at work until late," she explained.

"No problem, Rachel, your place is on the way anyway to Miss Pillsburry's," then he turned to look at Emma, "are you ready then?" she nodded his head and they walked at the front door behind the three Cheerios as Mike asked Tina if she'd like to come hang out with him and Matt at his place. 

_

* * *

_

_**A/N:** So I know this chapter seemed kinda pointless, but it was a part of my original plans and for some reason it was just like impossible to avoid (I really tried)- anyway, another chapter will be posted momentarily if they don't all show up at the same time, so please continue and enjoy! It will pick up soon, I promise._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

Weeks after the barbeque, and everyone was wishing for those sunny, if somewhat chilly, days back. Snow had made its first appearance, and if Ohio had anything to say about the weather, then winter was stuck around for the long haul now.

Quinn was lying in her oversized bed, with its big fluffy pillows and silk comforter, in her oversized pink lace room, starring at her plain white ceiling in her empty house. She was home, but it had stopped feeling like home a long time ago, even before she had been kicked out, so the feeling was kind of familiar by now. However, what was bothering her most was the feeling that something _else _was off now too, whether it was just her being back in her quiet house after living at the rambunctious Jones' for so long, or what, she wasn't sure yet.

She closed her eyes and tried to figure out what was different. She knew it wasn't her mother, her mother had been drunk out of her mind for the last three months straight since her father left, and even half the time before then, so that was nothing new. It wasn't Finn and Rachel being all over each other at school either, even thought that was pretty puke-inducing, but she'd gotten over him forever ago. And it wasn't her other fling either, it wasn't Puck.

_Although_, she raised an eyebrow at the thought, she supposed it could _possibly_ be Puck. He had been avoiding her a lot after all. Of course, she knew she'd burned him, and burned him bad when it came to their child. But it wasn't like she wasn't missing baby Beth too. She'd spent nine _months _with that little girl growing inside of her, after all. If anyone had the right to be miserable about it, it was her, not him. She rolled over and buried her head under her pillow and continued to check off the other things her uneasy feeling could be; Puck just wasn't worth her energy in the head.

It wasn't Cheerios, either. Sure, it was hard, being back, and she was still duking it out for Head, but the routines were getting easier all the time and she was confident Coach Sylvester would chose her again, and, even if she didn't, she was back on the team, and, more importantly, back in uniform. That red, black, and white scrap of fabric held more power in the hallways than any team of jerseys combined. So _that _was actually one point in her life that was going pretty well. She knew it was damn close to a miracle that she had fallen from grace and was now so effortlessly making her way back up to the top again.

Glee was also going fairly well too. They were getting better all the time, although some of the new kids left something to be desired, Rachel was getting slightly less annoying, and Schuester was finally able to tell what was cool and what wasn't. Most of the time. And, despite their embarrassing loss to Vocal Adrenaline the year before, she felt they really had a chance at, at the very least, Regional's this year. And, if they took Regional's, Glee Club was there to stay and she would continue to have something to look forward to until she got to escape to college.

So, it wasn't a boy, and it wasn't Cheerios, and it wasn't Glee. So, the feeling probably wasn't in school then. Although, she knew her classes were suffering a bit, so that could always be it. Last semester, with everything that had been going on, she had failed to make Honor Roll for the first time since Middle School, and she was now having a hard time getting back into her old study habits.

Honestly, she sighed, she had no idea how she had had all the energy for everything she did back before the baby-gate. Now she was tired, like, _all _the damn time. It was ridiculous. She'd missed her last two Spanish assignments, not that Mr. Schue really cared, she was one of his special Glee kids, after all, but she'd also failed her last math test, and was now in some stupid study group on Monday's wither Brittany, Jew-Fro, and a handful of other students she didn't know. She'd considered taking some of those "vitamins" the ex-Mrs. Schuester had given the others, but ultimately decided it was a bad idea. Coach Sylvester would certainly know something was up, and then she'd never be reinstated as Head Cheerio.

With hardly more than a sigh, she fell asleep, fully clothed and lying on top of her covers. She didn't wake up again until her alarm went off in the morning. Groggily, she dragged herself up and hurried to get ready for school, thankful to yet again not have to worry out choosing what to wear. When her car stalled in the parking lot, she nearly swore out loud as she tromped back through the snow to wake her mother up for a ride.

Hardly a second to spare, she slowed her sprint to a walk just before she made it to the front doors of McKinley. Once inside, she was nearly immediately joined by Santana and Brittany. Together they effortlessly parted the students in the halls as their made their way to class. _God_, how she missed this. Brittany babbled away happily on her left while Santana, standing on the opposite side of Brittany, did her very best to ignore Quinn's very existence. They were _frenemies _yet again. Friends only for the good of their reputation and their occasional relapse of nostalgia, but enemies as Coach Sylvester constantly pit them against each other.

Coach Sylvester said the competition was good for her two best Cheerios, and Quinn had to agree. Santana, absolutely furious, had upped her game, and Quinn was having to work twice as hard to keep up. But, without a doubt, she knew she _was _keeping up, and Coach Sylvester had still yet to decide.

"You weren't at practice this morning," Santana stated suddenly without bothering to look at Quinn, Quinn groaned.

She closed her eyes and grimaced as she remembered circling today's date in bright red for their weekly 5am practice a month ago. "I over slept," she explained lamely. Santana didn't make further comment and broke away from their group to go to class. Quinn watched her go and silently lamented as Brittany wandered away in the opposite direction, Coach was going to kill her.

It took Coach Sylvester all the way until lunch to find Quinn and pull her aside for, what proved to be, a terrifying one-on-one talk, borderline interrogation, in her office. "I don't know what's going on with you, Q," Coach Sylvester spoke coldly and evenly, and Quinn thought for sure she was less scary when she was yelling. She narrowed her eyes at the wall and continued to tap the cap of her pen rhythmically against her open palm as she let the silence draw out into an uncomfortable level, "you're slipping, fast and far. Even my immaculate training circuit won't be able to whip you into shape, _especially _if you don't bother to show up. Your performance today doesn't look good for a possible Head Cheerio."

Quinn struggled to find the words, to say anything in her defense, but she came up empty and only ended up shaking her head from side to side apologetically.

"You're losing your fight," Coach Sylvester observed bluntly, "I don't know if it's the," she gestured vaguely in the direction of Quinn's abdomen, "residual baby hormones in your, or what, Q, but it ends today. Do you understand? It looked plain good of me, asking you back on the team, but I won't hesitate cutting you, for dismal performance especially. We won nationals without you last year, we can do it again."

She felt the stab at her pride, the message was clear- we don't _need _you, you are expendable. She struggled to swallow her pride and nodded slowly, "I understand, Coach Sylvester. It won't happen again." She cursed her voice for coming out so small and pathetic. Freshmen Fabray would have never taken this lying down. _She _had become the first Freshmen Captain in years, she didn't let anyone stand in her way. And, now, _Junior _Fabray was letting herself get walked all over just because she'd been having an off couple of weeks.

"You're right, it won't. Now," Coach Sylvester nodded towards the door, "get out of my office." Quinn never obeyed an order faster in her life. Running into the hallway, she collided straight into her two favorite people, Mercedes and Kurt.

"Oh, hey girl, we were just looking for you!" Mercedes greeted, immediately pulling her into a hug, Quinn smiled and felt herself hugging back.

Kurt nodded from behind Mercedes, "Yes, you weren't in lunch, so we were worried." His eyes darted to the door she'd just exited through and his face visibly paled, "what did _she _want?" To say the least, Kurt was still terrified of Coach Sylvester.

"She just wanted to talk to me about my dismal performance lately," Quinn shrugged her shoulders, "it's no big deal."

"Well that's good," Mercedes commented offhandedly as she read over a text message, "listen, we gotta go, Tina has something to tell us she doesn't want to say in Glee. You wanna come?"

Quinn glanced down at her own phone to check the time and sighed, she was going to be late for Spanish, again, at this rate, she sadly shook her head, "I've got class."

"Alright, well we'll catch you after school?" she offered.

Again Quinn shook her head, "I've got that study group."

"Right," Kurt sighed thoughtfully, "well, text us up when you get done. Maybe we can all get together at my place and have a girl's night!"

Mercedes rolled her eyes, "But it's a Monday."

Kurt just shrugged his shoulders, "My dad won't care. And I didn't say _sleep over_, Finn hates when we do that anyway." Quinn shook her head as the other two continued their friendly bicker as they made their way down the hallway. She jumped as the bell let out a loud shrill and turned heel to run down the opposite direction, wondering _why _Spanish had to be on the other end of the school.

Spanish dragged on, she barely kept her eyes open in English, and math was even worse. Especially since she didn't have the luxury of leaving with the rest of the class at the end of the day. Instead, she had to wait until the other, now only five, students filed in so they could begin their ridiculous tutor session.

Seriously, she didn't know _why _she still wasn't getting the material. It couldn't be that hard. It was just ridiculous. There were only five, out of the original twenty, students left in the study group, and she was one of them. Even Brittany was gone. But that was due to Coach Sylvester sticking her nose into the situation at Santana's insistence and getting Brittany's academic probation lifted. She knew Santana had done it just to piss her off.

Grumbling that the two were at their afternoon Cheerios practice, which she thankfully was _officially _excuse from, while she was stuck studying _math_, she placed her head on her desk and prayed for it to be over quickly.

"Quinn, are you feeling alright?" she looked up to see Mr. Sanders starring down at her with a worried expression on his face. She quickly assured him she was fine and sat up. "Well, I have your last test score. You passed with a solid C, but I still think you can do better," she accepted the offered paper and starred angrily at the little red letter in the top corner. "I'd like for you to stay for the next two sessions, but if you maintain that grade, I'll have no reason not to remove you from academic probation." She smiled her thanks and pulled out the worksheet they were supposed to go over as the others slowly filed in.

A grueling hour later, Quinn rushed out of the stuffy classroom with the others and hurried down the hallway before she could be called back for any reason, by student or teacher. She kept her head down as she passed the gym, listening to the pumping music and Coach Sylvester's booming voice through her megaphone. She knew, since she finished early, that she should join the end of practice, but she just wanted today to be over.

When Judy sat down for dinner that night, she sat down alone. After a few seconds of looking around the empty table, she realized her daughter was missing and set her wine glass down, rising from her chair. Humming lightly to herself, she made her way to the foyer and leaned up the staircase, calling up to Quinn. Waiting a half minute, she decided that Quinn had turned in early, and returned to the dining room alone.

When she finished clearing the table and putting away the dishes, she set back down and poor another drink. After an hour she fell asleep with her head propped up on her open palm and slept until late morning the next day. Rushing about the kitchen, she left a scribble note to Quinn reading: _Gone to visit Aunt Michelle as planned, I'll be home in a few days- call me if you get lonely. There's money in the cabinet for dinner or whatever you need. Love you, be safe xoxo_

When she got home a week later the note was still there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Quinn groaned as she slowly came to with a pounding headache in her temples and an unfamiliar wooden ceiling swirling violently above her head in large, blurry, circles that made her stomach lurch as soon as her eyes fluttered open for the first time. She hissed through her teeth as she tried to force her stiff body upright and had to press and hold her lips together against the rising bile at the back of her throat. Chest heaving, she forced the sour taste back down and let her head fall to the ground again, taking along moment to collect herself before she dared to even try to open her eyes again.

Bracing for a second wave of dizziness when she cracked an eye open again, she was relieved that the spell appeared to be a onetime thing that lasted for only that short moment, even as bad as it had been. Squinting in the dim light, she let her eyes refocus against the darkness and studied the wooden rafters overhead and tried to piece together where she was. She felt even worse than she did that one time she got drunk with Puck, and that had even been pathetically bad, especially for only drinking four wine coolers.

Her memory came up eerily blank after she started her walk home after school, and even before that, it was fuzzy, at best. She remembered only bits and pieces of her day clearly: her car not starting, Coach Sylvester, math class, and not wanting to wait around to bum a ride off another Cheerio or to call her mom to come pick her up. It had been snowing, but it wasn't all that cold, so she'd decided to walk home. And, apparently- Quinn forced herself upright with the use of the wall behind her back and a loud moan- and, _apparently_, that decision to walk home had been a very bad idea.

There was a small rectangular window near the top of the wall above her head that provided a little bit of sunlight, but most of the outside was blocked by thick weeds and a wooden barrel of some sort. She could barely see out, and no one would be able to see in. Looking around inside the room, she found that she couldn't make out much beyond the little halo of sun she was sitting in, and she was much too tired to venture forward to see what was there. She assumed it was nothing good anyway. Under her, the ground was flat, hard, and cool- cement. She'd been laid out on nothing but some newspaper and a thin cloth for she had no idea how long, and now she was sore from head to toe. The throbbing in her head returned and she closed her eyes again, almost immediately falling back into an uneasy sleep while still sitting upright against the wall.

She woke up again with a gasp hours later to the loud scuffling of something heavy being dragged across the floor upstairs, her head whipping from side to side as her hazy mind slowly caught up to her current predicament. The sun had gone almost completely down, it was nearly impossible to see anything at all, and, most of all, it was starting to get cold. Blinking in the quickly diminishing light, she looked up towards the source of the sound. Little flecks of dust drifted off of what she now recognized as wooden stairs, not rafters, as muffled voices drifted down through the above floorboards. She felt the urge to cry out and opened her mouth, but her throat was too dry to manage much more than a strangled squeak. The voices continued, oblivious to her presence, and she felt the despair bubbling in the pit of her stomach grow to swallow her whole as she wrapped her arms around herself and succumbed to heaving sobs that wracked her entire body.

Cold, hungry, and her face aching from crying half of the night, she awoke early the next morning with the sun barely rising, birds chirping away happily outside, and a quiet floor above her head. Finding the control of her legs that she had lacked the night before, she was able to stagger to her feet after, what felt like, hours of trying later. With the help of the wall, she was able to slowly stumble around the small cellar she was being held in. Once she looped it for the second time, still finding nothing more than a pile of a few musty boxes standing in one corner, and that the door at the top of the stairs was still locked, she sat down at the bottom of the staircase with her head in her hands.

She was well out of tears, but she didn't know what else to do besides cry. She was a hardly sixteen year old girl, for crying out loud, what else was she _supposed _to do? There she was, trapped, alone, in some cold, empty, dark, basement, either as a cruel joke that had gotten way out of hand or for some reasons that were much, much worse and way more scary, that she didn't really want to think about, much less seriously consider.

Two days passed with nothing. There was hardly a sound from upstairs, just some distant, muffled, footsteps. She watched and waited, but no shadow ever passed outside the window, and nobody ever came down the stairs. It was two days of absolutely nothing, and she wondered if anybody was looking for her. After another few hours of silence, she didn't know if she was going to die, or go crazy, first.

On the third day she woke up to a plate full of food. Logically, she knew she should be weary after being locked away for days by some lunatic, it could all very likely be poisoned or something. But half of it was her favorite food, and the second she saw it, her stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl and she decided she didn't really care if it killed her after the first bite, and early dug in.

After waking up from one of her irregular naps later that afternoon, she was surprised to find the plate, and the few scraps of food she hadn't consumer, gone, a lone bottle of water standing in the empty space. And she hadn't heard a thing the whole time. She didn't like napping so much, especially now that it apparently meant she'd get secret visitors without her knowledge, whether they were trying to keep her alive or not, she still didn't like it. But there wasn't much else, besides sleep, to do, and she didn't like being left alone with her thoughts for too long at a time

However, like it or not, thinking and sleep was all she had to do, and so that's what she did. So she began to wonder exactly how her visitor would know when to sneak down. She hadn't adapted to any sort of sleeping pattern that she'd become aware of, not that she had any clock or any other way to tell time, but she just sort of drifted in and out of consciousness whenever the mood swung her.

Then the creeping realization that, not only was she being held, but that she was also probably being watched too shocked her far more than anything so far. What sort of creeps were there? "I'm not a television show," she stated bitterly, the first words she'd spoken since arriving.

On the fourth day, she didn't wake up to another plate full of food, which she was oddly ok with- she'd eaten herself borderline sick the night before and was still feeling a little too queasy to eat anyway. However, her body refueled, she became restless in a way that she hadn't had the luxury of being the last few days, and suddenly found herself pacing the basement back and forth for most of the afternoon.

She'd just finished another lap and decided to sit down and relax for a big, leaning back against the wall beside the pile of boxes. Accustomed to the limited light, she glanced around the room. There were few details that hadn't been visible in the dark to report. The walls were brick and scratched away at some places, there was a second window, but it was completely blocked on the other side, a rolled up carpet was resting against the far wall, but it smelled so bad that she didn't even consider using it to sleep on, a bunch of old tarp and other junk piled on the opposite side of the stair case, and a little book resting on top of the box closest to her head.

Doing a double take, her eyes rested on the green book that definitely hadn't been there before. Hesitating a moment, she got to her feet and starred at it a long while before deciding it was safe enough to pick up, it was just a book- what could it hurt? It was heavier than she'd expected, and she glanced around nervously once more before tucking it under her arm and taking it back to her sleeping spot to get a better look at it in the light. Settling back down on the floor, she flipped open the cover, but found that she was holding the album upside down when four pictures fell out of their slots onto her lap.

They were of her.

One was from Cheerios practice, she was facing the other direction, in the middle of a flip, but she'd recognize herself from any other Cheerio for sure. The second was of her walking into school sometimes earlier in the semester, it was raining. In the third she was passed out cold, lying on her back on the cement floor in the basement, probably from the first night. The last photo was the most nerve wracking. She was also in the basement, but she was starring straight at the camera, her eyes wide, and face set in a grimace.

Her heart jumped into her throat and she scrambled to her feet, looking around wildly, expecting her captor to jump out of the shadow at any second, but everything was still still, still quiet, she was still alone. She was oddly disappointed.

Rummaging through the pile of junk, she found the camera ridiculously easy, and wished she'd had the sense to search through the room better beforehand. Grasping it tightly between both of her hands, she pulled it hard, ripping it's wire from the wall before tossing it onto the ground, watching as the little plastic pieces went flying everywhere in satisfaction. Next, she turned on the boxes. Knocking over the first box, a second book fell out. She opened it up and found countless pictures of a blonde girl walking, talking, going in and out of buildings, but never looking at the camera and otherwise oblivious that her picture was being taken.

For a brief moment the girl look familiar, it looked like her, it looked like it was another book filled of dozens of pictures of her, as if the one sitting on her bad wasn't enough, but upon close inspection, Quinn realized it wasn't, and was relieved. It wasn't her, but they sure looked an awful lot alike. Dropping the book back into the box of old clothes, she was afraid of what she would find in the others. Some were empty, some had more clothes and more books, a few at the bottom held old baby toys. Eighteen girls were documented in the boxes, and Quinn was number nineteen. 

_

* * *

_

_A/N: I was honestly going to keep holding out on all of you until I completely finished the next chapter too, but I felt bad for having NOTHING up for so long. You see, when I got home from vacation I had like half of four chapters done, but none actually completed, so all this time I've been trying to rewrite/finish them all before I posted anything, but I burn out after like an hour or two in one sitting and get frustrated that nothing sounded like how I wanted it to, so that's just taking too long. But the sixth chapter will probably be up late tonight or early tomorrow morning- my roommate moves in later today, so I might get a little distracted, but it will definitely be up before I go to sleep tonight!_


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: _**_So, something possessed me and I decided to completely re-write this entire chapter! Starting at like 2:30 in the morning… __So, that's why this is being posted so late- but still before I went to sleep, so well within my word!__ I also apparently decided to be a total creeper. Be forewarned: my other most favorite TV show is Criminal Minds. Anyways, I just wanted to give you a warning (I swear I'm not this messed up on my own! I'm a fluff addict at heart...), I'm actually kind of glad this idea hit me, because I honestly had no real 'logical' (even for a psychopath) reason for what's going on before, but now I do! And that's good... and now you get another update:_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Six**

She'd honestly lost track of how many times the sun went down and came up again since she'd been locked in the basement, and she hadn't even thought of making a tally on the wall like they did on the movies until the fifth night, and even by then she was a little unsure. By her count, it was somewhere around seven, if not, eight times before she ever caught a glimpse of who was holding her.

Sometimes she would fall asleep in the middle of the day and wake up later, swearing it was the next. Sometimes she would straight through from daylight one day to the next day and never see the night. And, sometimes the days dragged on so long that she was sure she'd blink and a month would pass by.

Regardless, when she saw the dark eyes of, one of, her captors, it was late. She'd known there were two all along, she could hear them talking during the day. Sometimes about her. The entire basement was shrouded in night, ad Quinn had been asleep on her dirty, poor excuse, for a sheet covered bed, her arms wrapped around her middle for warmth. She'd only woken up because a hand stroked her cheek.

Mind muddled with sleep, she blinked rapidly to make sure it wasn't a dream. Her mouth opened and closed soundless as she failed to find the words. The shadowed individual withdrew their hand and stood up slowly, calmly retreating back up the stairs without a glance back. Their light footsteps echoed loudly in Quinn's mind until she fell back asleep.

In the morning she found her hands bound at her wrists and feet at her ankles. There was another tray of snack set in front of her face, something they provided her with roughly every other day. She ate slowly and nervously, it was a much more difficult task with her hands tied together. She jumped at every slight sound above her, eyes glued to the staircase, waiting until they descended again.

Something was happened, and she didn't like it. Not that she very much liked the general situation she was in very much, but she'd grown used to it. It wasn't that she had given up, she still hoped and prayed for rescue, for two days in a row she had screamed her throat soar, and every time so much as a flicker of a shadow passed over the window she could cry out again, but she was beginning to just accept where she was. It wasn't ideal, and there were a thousand other places she'd rather be, but she was alive for now, and that was good enough. With something so suddenly shifting, she wasn't sure how safe she really was.

Placing the apple she'd been eating back on the plate, she looked through the heavy shadow and across to the opposite side of the room. Days prior, she had thrown all of the books she'd found, including her own, into one big messy pile amongst shredded boxes. She had ripped half the pages out and moved them around, a page from the first book in the middle of the fifth, and so forth. It was their sick obsession, _they _were their sick obsession, and, from what she discovered a few days ago, they were going to kill her anyways, so what did she have to lose? Any bit of aggravation she could give them in the mean time would be worth it in the end.

She hadn't discovered the red book until much after finding all of the others. It had been tucked away at the very bottom of the last box in the stack, wrapped in a pair of socks and hidden from the world. She'd stumbled upon it while dumping out all of the clothes to mix together, it landed on her foot. It was an album, just like all the rest, except it was much thinner and the edges of the cover were warn like they'd been handled a lot. Inside it held a single photo of each of the other eighteen, there was a spot for her and countless others. Every picture looked the same, after scanning over them all a few times she couldn't even distinguish their faces or tell the girls apart. In every shot they were all laid out flat on their backs, their eyes closed, hands crossed over their chests, hair done up, lips painted red, and wearing t he same powder pink dress that was too small on all of them. She knew they were dead. It was the only book she left intact, returning it to its place at the bottom of a box.

Now her hands and feet were tied. There had been no indication of that new turn of events in any of the pictures, but she knew it couldn't mean anything good. She idly wondered if she'd made _them _made, destroying their stuff, but in the end, she decided it didn't matter why- she was still going to be tied up regardless. The next day, when an old faded couch suddenly appeared in the center of the room, followed by a television set later that afternoon, both well out of her newly limited reach, she became ever so slightly less worried and drastically more confused.

It was ten days into her confinement when she heard the steps approach the door above her head. There was a jingle of keys, the turn of a log, and the whine of hinges that could've used a good oil a long time ago. The basement door swung open for the first time in the middle of the day that she'd been awake for, and she figured that maybe that was why she'd been tied up. Heavy footsteps took their time descending down the staircase, stopping every so often for a quick second before moving down to the next and she rushed to sit upright, which took quite an effort, and prepared herself for whatever was about to happen. Tied up or not, she wasn't going down without a fight. But finding that she recognized the man standing at the bottom of the steps, and realizing that it was Mr. Sanders, was far from what she'd expected, and the information left her completely floored.

Her mind went blank and her mouth hung open. The whole time she'd been locked away she had imagined some pervy old man, a Charles Manson-looking reincarnation, the janitor, or one of those ragged looking creeps you see on television who take little girls from their homes. She never once suspected her own math teacher. She opened her mouth to say something, to beg for her release, to ask for her daddy, to demand why, but nothing would come out. She hadn't uttered a word in a week, and it was like her brain had forgotten how to make her speak.

Mr. Sanders turned and starred at her thoughtfully from a distance for a long time, his lips pressed together in a thin line and his eyebrows drawn close. As he took a sudden bold step towards her, his heavy shoes clomping across the concrete, she shrunk in on herself, feeling small and vulnerable under his intense gaze. As he got closer, she noticed the frame in his hand. It was made of popsicle sticks and was sloppily painted and covered in messy bits of sparkles. He kept it angled away so she couldn't see the picture.

He came to a stop, hovering tall over her, and she starred up, waiting. He didn't move for a whole minute, and she didn't dare to even breathe. His knuckles turned white as his grin on the frame increased. Anger, sadness, regret, and guilt flashed across his eyes before he masked it once again and held out the bit of wood for her to take. Arms shaking as she lifted them, she gently took it from his hand, letting it fall back to her lap. She didn't look at the picture, she didn't dare look away from him.

Tears flooded his eyes as he starred at her. "Do you remember?" he asked quietly. She only starred in return. He asked her again, louder this time, practically shouting. She let out a terrified squeak and jumped, he looked almost sorry. "Do you remember?" he repeated a third time, urging towards the frame with her hands.

Hesitantly, she looked away and picked the frame up again. She turned it over and starred at the faded picture delicately glued in place. It was Mr. Sanders, years younger and smiling proudly with his arms around a little blonde seven year old, holding a big trophy in her tiny hands. She was wearing an oversized powder pink dress. He asked her again and she shook her head.

She tensed and closed her eyes, waiting to be hit, or for him to yell, or for something to be thrown, but it never came. Cracking open a single eye, his shoes were gone. She looked up just as the door to the basement slammed shut.

Mr. Sanders returned several times that day, every time with the same question, and every time she gave him the same answer. He never said anything else and she never asked. On his fourth trip he was carrying VHS tape and a player. He didn't even look at her as he made his way over to the couch and television, immediately setting down to set up whatever the movie was. Quinn watched wearily from the other side of the room, her eyes drifting up the stairs to where the door was still cracked open.

When Mr. Sanders finished, he straightened and pushed the black cassette into the player and waited for the fuzz on the screen to clear. The screeching laughter of a child brought Quinn's interest over to the screen. The little girl from the photo was running away from Mr. Sanders, as a boy, as he squirted her in the back of the head with a super soaker. She looked away from the screen to her teacher, watching as he stood there, starring at the screen with pure agony written across his face. "Do you remember now?" he asked again. This time he didn't wait for an answer as he turned and made his way quickly up the stairs.

The tape would play constantly, for the rest of the day and well into the night. Mr. Sanders and that little girl were laughing on the screen at full volume for four hours at a time. She would get a short break from their show for five minutes at a time as the tape automatically rewound itself before starting again. She swore she could hear it in her sleep.

In the morning, a scene she hadn't seen before was playing and Mrs. Sanders, Lisa, of all people, was sitting on the couch and watching an apparently new video while eating popcorn, her back to Quinn. Again, she tried to say something, and again she failed. But she must have managed some form of sound, because Lisa turned around and flashed her that same sweet grin she'd had at the barbeque that day. "Do you remember now?" she repeated those same words that were for sure going to be burned into Quinn's memory. Quinn shook her head again. Lisa frowned, but said nothing else and returned to the movie.

Quinn laid her head back down and starred at the ceiling, her mouth hanging open as she tried to process just what was going on. She hadn't seen anyone for over a week, and now they were both just popping by and hanging out watching old home videos. The smell of popcorn wafted over to her and her stomach let out a low growl and she realized they hadn't fed her in days. But, glancing over at Lisa as she shoved another buttery handful in her mouth, that didn't look like it was about to change.

They asked her constantly. Sometimes it was Mr. Sanders, sometimes it was Lisa. They came it quickly, practically running down the stairs, and sometimes they took their time, or just came down to watch the videos with her. Sometimes Lisa would wake her up in the middle of the night, asking her again and urging her to say yes, but Quinn always shook her head no.

As time passed, the temperature dropped, and the nagging feeling that she was hungry turned into a sharp pain, Quinn found it harder and harder to keep her eyes open and her mind active. Her fingers were icy and she was beyond feeling the aches in her back, more often than not, she was only ever awake because they had roused her to ask again and again. Days blurred to nights, and when the police man first appeared above her she thought she was dreaming.

_

* * *

_

**_A/N:_**_ Alright, she here's something I noticed while watching Criminal Minds that might save your life (which I also showed here, even though I really doubt Quinn would watch CM) if you are ever kidnapped, and the kidnapper wants you to do something- DON'T DO IT! Because apparently the kidnapper needs you to fulfill his fantasy, and the second you do fulfill his fantasy, he doesn't need you anymore. And kills you. Remember this and one day you'll thank me! I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can, but it probably won't be tonight (Saturday) so check back tomorrow or Monday- I promise I'll explain and get to everything, for those of you who are asking :)_


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N: _**_So, when I get on a roll, I _really _get on a roll, don't I? Here we have- ANOTHER chapter! Weee- I'm excited. I know it's like super late at night/really early in the morning, but, hey, I said there wouldn't even be an update at all until _maybe_ tonight, so I think I'm actually a head of the game (for once). Also, I have to say, waking up to a whole bunch of happy reviews after Ch. 6 had been up for only a few hours was A-MAZING, and it definitely made my whole day, so I thank you- you all rock! I always forget how good a feeling that is when I don't update for a while._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Seven**

Quinn jumped at the light knock on her door and tore her eyes away from the spot she'd been starring at on the wall for the better part of an hour and called whoever it was in, shuffling upright on her uncomfortable hospital bed and pulling her paper gown straight.

She had barely been in the hospital for two days and she had already seen her entire local family, not that they had stayed for very long, or even said very much other than that they had seen her on TV. Her father had even dropped by twice, but mostly he talked with her mother in the hallway. Most of the Cheerios that she was on good terms with had already visited, that included Coach Sylvester, who had praised her bravery in coming out of something like that mostly intact, somehow comparing her to a Dessert Storm solider. Coach Sylvester had also informed her that she was expected back at Cheerios practice as soon as she was given the medical go ahead, and that she was now going to have to work twice as hard to make up the time she'd missed. It was good to know that some things never changed. And all, but three, members of the Glee Club had been through to see her at least twice, and some, like Mercedes and Kurt, had been near permanent fixtures beside her bed until the nurse chased them out for a few hours.

The only people left that hadn't visited her were Brittany, Santana, and Rachel. And, not that she was going to admit it to Rachel, but she was more than a little surprised when it washer that walked through the door and not the other two Cheerios.

Rachel looked surprised for a minute when she spotted Quinn upright, but quickly covered it up with a tense smile as she made her way briskly over to the side of the bed with her head held high. "I hope you like them," Rachel thrust the bouquet of purple flowers she'd been carrying towards Quinn's chest. "Finn told me that they were your favorite," she explained nervously when Quinn gave her a curious glance. She stopped and glanced around the stale hospital room as Quinn hesitantly took the flowers from her grasp, "and I figured that they, you know, could bring some color to the room. I know that the décor in hospitals is usually fairly minimal."

Quinn smiled slightly and offered Rachel a quiet thank you as she set them down on her lap. It was getting easier to talk the more she did it, and she was due to make a full recovery, but her throat was still sore most of the time, which made her really not want to even put forth the effort. The doctors had explained to her that her voice loss was a combination of lack of use, dehydration, and some strange type of mold that had been growing in the basement, which was a lovely thought in itself.

Rachel bounced awkwardly onto the soles of her shoes while watching Quinn carefully studying the flowers she'd brought. "I'm glad to see that you're doing better," she spoke suddenly, her words rolling together again as she continued on with barely a breath. Quinn felt her smile grow wider, there were apparently two things that she could count on never changing: Coach Sylvester and the Cheerios, and Rachel Berry. Especially when Rachel started talking about the rapidly approached Sectional's. "Tina told me that you were pretty out of it when she was here last, so I didn't even know if you were going to be awake when I got here," she admitted somewhat hesitantly after she paused for a second to catch her breath, "I would have come sooner, I know it's not very much fun to be in the hospital alone, but I didn't want to intrude when Finn offered me a ride when he brought Kurt, I know that you and Kurt have become fairly close after all. Plus, I didn't think you would really want to see too many people at the same time, and then I had to wait for one of my Dads to get off work so they could drive me, and by the time they got home yesterday it was after visitor's hours. So, I-"

"Really," Quinn interrupted, almost daring to laugh, "it's ok, I understand. Don't worry about it. There have actually been a ton of people in and out of here all day, so I haven't had the chance to really get lonely."

"Oh," Rachel's eyes went wide and she immediately popped up from the chair she'd settled into, "would you prefer to be alone for a while? I totally understand if you would like some time to yourself right now so you can," she stopped and stuttered over the right phrasing, "so you have time to process everything you've gone through these last two weeks."

"No," Quinn assured quickly and Rachel dutifully sat back down, "it's been really nice, seeing everybody. I really missed everyone. Plus, I-" she allowed her lips to close, cutting herself off, she only continued when Rachel gave her a prodding look. Quinn shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know, I guess I just like the noise. The talking. It was really quiet."

She was thankful not have to explain what 'it' was and that Rachel quickly moved on. "Yes, well," Rachel nodded her head, "we were all very worried about you. I'm actually surprised that more people aren't here right now," Rachel glanced around the room again.

"Mercedes and Kurt were here earlier, they're going to be back later," she explained.

Rachel smiled, clasping her hands together, "well that's good. We all wanted to come see you when they first brought you here, but Mr. Schue said that it would be best if we waited until you got some rest first. Noah wasn't going to listen, but Finn was able to convince him otherwise. I assume everyone else has been to see you already then?"

"Almost everyone," Quinn smiled, "even Coach Sylvester." Rachel raised her eyebrows to comical levels and Quinn chuckled, going on to explain about Coach's unconventional pep talk and how she was to be back on the practice field in a few weeks, "we have nationals to win, after all," she joked.

"I'm glad to hear that you're not going to let this affect your plans. You are truly one of the most brave people I know," Rachel replied sincerely with a slight dip of her chin. Quinn opened her mouth to protest, but she shook her head, "I mean it, I don't think most people can walk away from something like you went through and then talking about going back to high school."

"What good is dwelling going to do?" Quinn shrugged her shoulders sheepishly.

Rachel nodded her head but didn't comment, focusing on twiddling the last button of her sweater between her two fingers instead. She stopped and looked in confusion, "so who hasn't come to see you, then?"

Quinn hesitated for a moment. Sure, she knew Coach Sylvester had turned them into the biggest rivals since she didn't know what- France and Germany, maybe, but the three of them had been best friends all throughout middle school, so she could help but wonder where they were. "Well everyone except for Brittany and Santana."

"Oh," Rachel looked away and her voice got quiet, "I'm surprised they haven't made the trip yet, but I think those two have been fairly busy."

"Busy with what?" seriously, now Quinn was bitter- she'd been missing for two weeks, they could clear up their schedules for a few hours.

"Well, I haven't talked to either of them personally," Rachel explained, "but from what I heard from Noah, Santana's parents still aren't back yet, and Brittany hasn't heard from her mother since last night. But I'm sure when they come to see Brittany's dad they'll stop by to check on you too. I can text them after I leave to let them know you want to see them."

Quinn took a moment to absorb Rachel's words, "What happened to Brittany's dad?"

Rachel opened her mouth to respond, but stopped short, turning back to Quinn with a puzzled expression, "you mean you don't know? No one told you? He was shot."

"Shot?" Quinn repeated loudly, throwing herself into a coughing fit. Rachel hurried forward to supply her with a cup of water. "What do you mean he was shot?" she wheezed once she was in control of herself again.

Rachel was just shaking her head, muttering to herself, "Yes. In the arm, but he's going to be fine. How could no one have told you? It was Mr. Sanders. The night that they found you? Haven't you seen the television?"

Quinn shook her head, "I didn't want to see," she paused, "I didn't want to see myself all over national television as some poor victim."

"I guess that makes sense," Rachel agreed quietly. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the tiles on the ground for a minute before sighing loudly. "But that's not that there is!" she insisted suddenly, "what do you remember?"

"From when the police found me?" Rachel nodded. "I was unconscious."

Rachel got up from her chair and walked over to where the television set was mounted on the wall. It was a good distance over her head and well out of her reach. She stepped back and took a second to stare up at it, wondering if she could maybe jump to get it, but decided against it and turned around to retrieve her chair instead. "They keep showing it on repeat, the whole thing, it's like nothing else has happened since then. It was even on Nancy Grace last night and she had it run like three times, my Dads were watching," she explained over her shoulder as she precariously balanced on the back of the chair, stretching for the power button.

She hopped down from the chair as the television flickered to life, waiting to see what channel it turned to and hoping she wouldn't have to climb back up. Seriously, she could fall and break her leg and that could quite possibly be the end of her singing career. Luckily, whoever the last patient in the room was, they had left it on their local news channel. Rachel dragged her chair away and sat back down besides Quinn as Quinn became absorbed in the television.

One of the news reporters she recognized, but couldn't name, was center on the screen, talking rapidly into the microphone in her hand. It was hard to hear what she was saying, over the howling wind, and the subtitles were going too fast along the bottom of the screen for her to read, but she wasn't really focused on the words. Behind the reporter, the sky was black but lit up with artificial spotlights, snow was falling, and she could remember the sirens better than she could hear them on the television. She shut her eyes, suddenly feeling like she was sitting in the back of that ambulance again, with that EMT, her mother, and all of those people staring. She didn't even realize her chest was heaving or her head was spinning until she opened her eyes again and found herself looking at the paneled ceiling.

She turned her head to find Rachel watching her nervously, "I can turn it off it you want," she offered weakly. Quinn licked her lips and swallowed hard, taking a moment to compose herself before looking back at the television. The reporter was turned away from the camera now and was motioning off screen.

The camera followed her gesture and focused on, to Quinn's great surprise, Santana, of all people. Santana was walking quickly through the snow with bare feet and her head turned low, arms crossed over her middle as she made her way blindly towards the camera. "What's she doing there?" Quinn demanded, turning to Rachel. Rachel, who was also watching the television, only shook her head and pointed back to the screen. Reluctantly, she returned her attention forward.

The reporter reached out and grabbed Santana by her arm as she walked by. Santana stumbled slightly but allowed herself to be lead in front of the camera. The reporter asked her something while looking directly into the camera, again, Quinn didn't read quite fast enough to see what. But then Santana, the same Santana who had pushed Quinn down in the mud in third grade so _she _could be the one who represented their class on video for their teacher who was out on maternity leave, shook her head and pushed her way past, her arms still clutched around herself, without a word and not even glancing up at the camera.

The reporter eagerly said something else and then the screen cut away to footage filmed earlier that night. Quinn watched several police officers run out of the front door of the Sanders' house, and then, several seconds later, she saw herself being carried limply out, which was an eerie enough feeling in itself, especially since she didn't actually remember it happened. Just steps behind her unconscious body, she noticed Santana being lead out of the house by a second police officer, looking around somewhat confused and very lost.

Rachel, apparently having found the remote, chose that moment to click it off. "After that there's just a bunch of pictures of you," she explained with a short shrug, "I figured you wouldn't like that very much."

"I don't understand," was all she could manage in response. Rachel turned and studied Quinn confused face. "What was Santana doing there? I was alone." But then the startling clear memory of Santana's petrified face staring down at her from the staircase flashed through her mind and she couldn't believe she didn't remember it before. "I was alone," she insisted.

_

* * *

_

**_A/N: _**_So I think I kept their conversation pretty neutral, right? There will be more interaction between the two of them in later chapters, but it'll be about the same as this was, maybe slightly more leaning towards possibly suggesting something more. It won't ever get to the "hey, let's go out" point, it'll be more friend stuff that you can squint at to see what you want to see if you're really into Faberry (is it 'Faberry' or 'Fabary'?). Most people vetoed an outright relationship between them in this story, and I have to say I agree in this case- this is actually pretty close to what I originally came up with anyways, I don't think I ever really had the intention of them actually getting together, more of the set up to the possibility of it. _

_Anywaaays- we're gonna back track a little bit in the next chapter, so if you get confused, I'm super sorry in advance. I'm a fairly confusing person, on a good day, but I'm trying to keep my brain straight for this, and everything _will_ make sense in another chapter or two if you don't get it right away, I promise, so just stick with us. The next chapter will be up ASAP- but probably not tonight (since I got this up now), classes start early on Monday (nooooo *dramatic death scene*)_


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N: _**_So, what the heck happened to me right? Two things- Italian, and work. Work, I can deal with- we're short on staff, I get paid, and it's temporary, so I don't really mind. Italian, however, is completely kicking my ass. I never took a language in high school (well, I took sign language, but that doesn't "count") and now I'm in my third year of college, so it's like super hard… and I'm super dumb and way old to be trying to learn a second language. _

_I am going to do my best to keep updates as regular as possible (I mean, my favorite part starts next chapter!) but, as you can obviously see, it won't be every day. I'm starting to find a good flow, but if I ever vanish during the week again, do not worry: I will be back on the weekend! And much more consistently than this weekend (I picked up extra shifts to help with the shortage)- believe me I would MUCH rather be here than slaving in a dining hall!_

_So thanks so much for sticking with me, we'll get through this rough spot soon, promise. Now, much overdue, here we go…_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Eight:**

The day after Quinn went missing, it was Rachel Berry who first noticed that something was wrong the next day. Mr. Schuester had left the group sitting in the Choir Room under the direction of practicing their newest routine for Sectional's while he stepped out into the hallway to make a "private" phone call. Naturally, instead of practicing, half of the club got up and casually, and not very subtly, made their way close to the door, clumping together to eavesdrop on what was going on.

"Where's Quinn?" Rachel asked suddenly, turning away from where she was practicing the piano and scanning the huddled group closely, waiting for an answer. When no one responded, she continued, "we are fifteen minutes into class, and it is not like her to be this late," she explained to their blank stares.

Mercedes answered with a roll of her eyes and a shrug of her shoulders, "she hasn't been in all day, she's not skippin' or anything, so chill."

"Oh," Rachel made a thoughtful noise and looked back at the piano, everyone thought that that was going to be the end of it and returned their attention to the door again, but then Rachel opened her mouth and Mercedes actually groaned out loud, "isn't that unlike her?"

Finn nodded his head, looking from his girlfriend to the rest of the group before making his way over to stand beside the piano with Rachel. "Yeah," he agreed, she smiled up at him, "even last year with the whole," he stopped, still sheepish about the whole thing, "even with Beth, she never missed school. It was too important to her."

"She has had perfect attendance since 5th grade, when she got her tonsils removed," Kurt reported absentmindedly from one of the plastic chairs in the back row, glancing up only momentarily from his phone, beside him, Brittany nodded in agreement.

"I remember that!" she stated proudly, "she was super mad they wouldn't let her keep them in a jar to take home, or something," Rachel dramatically gagged at the very idea.

"Shouldn't we be worried then?" she asked, almost seeming genuinely concerned, until she decided to add, "I mean, Quinn can't really afford to be missing practice, her solo-"

Santana cut her off with a loud scoff from the other side of Brittany. Sitting up and crossing her arms over her chest, she fixed Rachel with a narrowed gaze, "oh, will you relax? She's probably just sick. There's, like, some nasty flu going around the Cheerios. Half the squad is sick."

"Or maybe you poisoned her," Mercedes suggested darkly.

Kurt nodded his head in agreement, leaning around Brittany to glance Santana over, "I honestly wouldn't put it past you." Santana just rolled her eyes and decided not to even justify their comments with a response, but thought that that wasn't actually such a bad idea.

"Or _maybe_," Brittany countered thoughtfully, "maybe she's on her period! Sometimes Santana skips when she has hers."

For all the practiced poise and mastered apathy within her, Santana couldn't help but sputter as her face blazed bright red and her mouth opened and closed uselessly as she tried to regain control over the conversation after that. "Listen," she finally ordered evenly, fixing Puck with a deadly glare when he's unable to control his howls of laughter, "I'm sure the Princess is fine," she snaps, "just call her house later, if you're all so worried."

Mr. Schue chose that moment to walk back in the room, sending the boys scattering away from the door as inconspicuously as they could manage, and effectively ending the conversation with a gleeful clap of his hands. Santana assumed that was the end of it. Then she got a text at 11 o'clock later that night.

Groaning, she fought her way out from under the fluffy duvet, her hand reaching blindly through the cold winter night towards her buzzing phone on the table next to the side of the bed. Finding it before her eyes were even open all the way, she brought it close to her face and read over the number she didn't recognize. Flipping it open, she blinked in the bright backlight, struggling to focus on the message.

_"Santana, this is Rachel Berry," _she swore out loud and almost threw her phone across the room, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, this once, and kept reading, _"I had to get your number from Tina, who texted Mike, who gave me Matt's number, who had Noah call me, who said that you got a new phone and to ask Brittany. I just wanted to let you know that no one answered the phone at Quinn's house when I called earlier this evening. I am starting to get extremely worried. Quinn is still going sharp, and she needs all the practice she can get if she's going to be able to handle the solos Mr. Schue has so graciously bestowed upon her. As I hope you are aware, it is imperative we do well this year. Glee is not going to get any more chance. I just thought you would like to know so maybe…" _the message went on to a third page and Santana decided that Berry never got the benefit of the doubt, ever, again, and dropped her phone back onto the table before rolling over and burying herself under the covers again.

Another burst of cold night air hit Santana full on the face and chest as Brittany sat up, throwing the covers off herself, and therefore, Santana too. She whined, and rolled over to bury her face in the pillow. Wondering why no one would let her sleep.

"Who was that?" Brittany asked curiously.

Santana turned her head to the side and glared up at her bubbly friend for a short moment before she groaned and climbed off the bed. "It was nobody, B," she mumbled through a yawn as she searched the floor in the dark, "have you seen my underwear?" Brittany glanced quickly around the room before pointing to her desk on the far side. Santana moved to retrieve them but then stopped short, turning back around to give Brittany a curious glance, "when did you have time to text Rachel?"

When a full week had passed, and still no one had heard from Quinn, even Santana was starting to get worried. Not that she would ever admit it. Their time in Glee Club was spent quietly, Mr. Schuester was worried and his anxiety was rubbing off on the rest of them, even Rachel had given signing a rest for a while. More often than not, they sat in a close circle, whispering about what possible could have happened to Quinn. The reigning theory was that she had simply run away and that Judy Fabray was too embarrassed to admit it. But everything from Aliens had been suggested.

The official announcement came on the 7 o'clock news. A picture of Quinn in her Cheerios Uniform smiled at all of Ohio from their television sets as a bright red banner scrolled across the top of the screen, alerting them all to her disappearance. In Lima it read, _Local WMHS Cheerio Captain reported missing by Mother on Friday afternoon. _A police officer was interviewed, saying that there was no sign of struggle at the residence, so they were not suspecting foul play, at that point, but that they would continue investigating. The news report then went on to provide a number to call with any information that could lead to her whereabouts before switching to a story about sports.

If Sue Sylvester had been angry when half of her Cheerios were out sick, and _with _doctor's notes, and therefore legally preventing her from dragging them to practice, then she went absolutely manic when she found out that one of her head Cheerios was missing. To cope with her panic about possibly losing National's because of this, she decided to work the remaining, and still relatively healthy, cheerleaders to the bone every day, before _and _after school for a week straight.

Sore and covered in sweat, Santana wanted to be shipped off to military school more than she wanted to stay at practice for another second when Coach pulled her aside after relieving the rest of the Cheerios. "Do you want me to wait for you?" Brittany asked as they made their way to the locker room and Coach Sylvester's office.

Santana sighed, shaking her head, "No, that's ok. I don't know how long this will take."

"You're going to walk? But it's snowing," Brittany insisted.

She turned and glanced out the window, it was only snowing lightly, "If it gets too bad I'll just call my brother from basketball and make him drive me.

Brittany pouted, "alright," she sighed, "but text me when you're done. We can do our homework together later!"

Santana agreed and saw her off before she turned and slowly made her way to Coach Sylvester's office alone. She knocked and waited to be called him. The meeting took all of about ten whole minutes, most of which was taken up by some serious amounts of yelling, on Coach Sylvester's part, and as Santana walked through a puddle of slush in a pair of thin flats, she really wished she had asked Brittany to wait.

She pulled out her phone as it vibrated in her pocket, smiled at the message Brittany sent her, and quickly typed a response, _"lol brt i can c my house"_. She was about to shove it back into her pants pocket when she suddenly stopped, looking up, confused. Tilting her head to the side slightly, she listened and looked around; she was stopped in front of a familiar little grey house, the street was empty and it was still snowing. She was about to shake it off as her imagination when the wind howled and she swore she heard a scream.

Her phone vibrated in her hand again, and, startled, she let it fall to the ground, leaving it there as she pushed open the gate and hurried towards the house, imagining a thousand things that could be happening behind the doors. A fire, an axe murder- and she'd seen a lot of television specials, she wasn't naive, Mr. Sanders could be stabbing his wife in the kitchen for all she knew. Skipping over the last two steps, she ran forward, her hand slamming against the door three times before taking a step back, waiting.

_

* * *

_

_Ps- Well, tomorrow is the awesome holiday, Labor Day, which means I have no classes! I still have work, unfortunately (so I can't stay up any later and write another chapter right now), but no classes after work means I still have plenty of free time to do whatever I want with after I get out, so you can definitely expect to hear from me again tomorrow!_


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N: _**_So there was an editing mix-up on my part last chapter, I went back and made it a little more clear, but, just so you don't have to go re-read the whole last chapter for two sentences, just know:** it **_**has****_ been the full two weeks since Quinn originally went missing_**_,sorry for the confusion!_

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Nine:**

After waiting a beat and still not receiving an answer, Santana hesitantly pushed against the door, both surprised and pleased when it easily swung inwards. "Hey, Mr. S?" she called cautiously as she stepped into the front foyer, met with a suffocating silence. She looked back out the still open door and then glanced up the stairs and around the spaciously arranged living room. "It's Santana Lopez, from down the street? Your door was open," she explained loudly, again receiving no response.

Treading forward as quietly as possible, she allowed her gaze to drift slowly around the seemingly empty house. Everything looked to be in order, it was exactly like how she remembered it, and nothing was obviously disturbed or out of place. If the door hadn't been left open she would have just chalked the sound up to her imagination playing tricks with the wind and gone home, but she ignored reason and continued to explore as her heart thudded in her chest.

Images of masked killers, psycho-maniacs, and all other sorts of movie-type villains hiding around every corner danced in her head, and it was almost enough to drive her nerves up a wall and send her screaming from the house like some little baby. Swallowing her delusional fear, she ventured in even further and turned towards the kitchen, just to make sure it wasn't covered in blood or with knives or body parts all over the floor or something else completely crazy. Muffled voices drifted up through the door on the wall under the stairs as she passed. Stopping, she crept closer, squatting down and pressing her ear to the door, straining to listen; but she couldn't even make out the voices, much less their words.

Biting her lip, Santana glanced over her shoulder and towards the stairs again to quell her paranoia, reaching up to grasp the handle with one hand, and turning it ever so slowly while her other hand gently pushed against the door while she prayed it wouldn't creak. With the door cracked open a few inches, the laughter from below freely bubbled up the stairs and Santana recognized at least Mr. Sanders' voice, and assumed the other voice belonged to Lisa, not that she had ever actually talked to the woman before.

Peeking through the gap in the door, she looked down and saw nothing much beside a lot of dark and a dim blue light flickering on and off somewhere out of sight. The two downstairs were silent for a moment, and she leaned closer, hearing a distinctly different voice talking and laughing, and then another scream, Mr. Sanders and Lisa laughed again. Puzzled, she pulled back and thought it over for a moment. Considering her options, she got up from her knees and eased the door open just far enough or her to be able to squeeze through and stuck one foot down onto the first step, easing her weight down on it slowly, eliciting only a small groan.

As she slowly took her time going down the step, the first thing she noticed was that the basement was absolutely freezing, she figured that one of the ventilation windows must be open, or the air conditioning must be on the fritz, because there is no way it would be that cold otherwise, even in the middle of winter. Carefully making her way down another step, she leaned down until she could see into the rest of the basement while remaining relatively hidden around the corner. Mr. Sanders and Lisa were sitting on a couch in the middle of the room with their back to the stairs, their faces illuminated by the light of an old-school television set that resembled the one Santana's grandparents owned. She stooped to watch them for a moment, jumping as another high-pitched scream fills up the entire basement, followed quickly by their laughter. She immediately felt herself relax, realizing that it had just been the television that she had heard from the front sidewalk.

Feeling ridiculously foolish, Santana shook her head and stood up, turning to quickly make her way back upstairs and hopefully out of the house before she got caught and was asked to explain her presence in their house. No matter what her intentions may have been, if Mr. Sanders mentioned it to her parents that she had technically broken into and entered his house, then she would never heard the end of it, or see the light of day until at least college.

Keeping her eyes glued to the stairs, she did her best to ensure her departure went both as quickly and as quietly as possibly without any fumbling in the dark. She was so focused she almost didn't notice. Santana actually made it to the top of the steps and out of the basement door before her mind was even able to fully register the shadowed image she'd passed over a moment before. But the second she realized it, she stopped and nearly fell down the stairs and she hurried back down the first few steps, squinting in the dark, almost positive of what she saw, but wanting to make sure.

A body. An unmoving body. Red skirt. Red top. Blonde. Quinn. Santana's mouth falls open and she had to grab at the railing to keep herself upright as all of her mental processes stopped at one thought, _it's Quinn_. Tied up. Unconscious. Santana ran back up the steps, taking them two at a time until she burst back through the basement door and into the living room- _God_, the realization makes her feel sick, at least she hopes Quinn was unconscious. Pacing, she rummages through her pockets, frantically searching for her phone, completely forgetting that she had dropped it in the snow just minutes earlier. Allowing her backpack to slide down her arms, with the intent on searching her pockets there, she grimaces as it knocks into the flower vase sitting on the corner of the table beside the basement door. Jumping to catch it before it falls, her hands come together with nothing in between them but air as the vase smashed onto the hardwood floor, sending water splashing everywhere.

She stopped, her eyes wide. The voices downstairs stopped and the television turned off. Her heart jumped into her throat and her breath cut off as she whirled around, looking to the front door, which she had left wide open, the realization that she had to pass by the open basement door again to get out almost crushing her as heavy footsteps hurried up the stairs.

With little options available, she'd be seen for sure if she made a run for the front door, Santana turned towards the kitchen and dashed to the back door, her hands fumbling with the lock as the footsteps got louder and the door banged open, rattling as it bounced off the wall. She jumped and was hardly able to hold in her surprised yelp as she spun around, pressing her back into a corner and preparing to be found out.

"Check upstairs," she heard Mr. Sanders order in the other room, followed by lighter footsteps heading up to the second floor via the staircase near the front door. Santana can only assume that Mr. Sanders decided to pursue their supposed invader out the front door when all else falls silent. Turning back to the door, she pulled the curtain to the side, swearing when she found that the lock was done in place by an old fashioned key, which she obviously didn't have. Nor apparently had the time to find as she heard Lisa coming back down the stairs again.

Her eyes darted around the small kitchen, hesitating on the pantry doors before falling on the table that was covered in a fancy dark maroon table cloth dusting the ground. She barely managed to dive underneath and pull the table cloth back in place before Mr. Sanders and Lisa converged just outside the kitchen doors.

"Did you find anything?" Mr. Sanders asked, Santana could see their feet and prayed they wouldn't notice hers. "Me neither," he sighed, Santana figured Lisa had shook her head 'no'. "The wind probably blew the door open and knocked the vase over," he suggested, turning and making his way into the kitchen, Santana pulled her knees closer to her chest, watching their feet come dangerously close to the table.

"Do you want some popcorn?" Lisa asked, walking over to the pantry and pulling the doors open with a groan from the hinges, "regular or extra butter?"

"Regular," Mr. Sanders replied casually.

Santana's head hurt. She just didn't understand. Mr. Sanders and Lisa continued to talk, about everything, and just like nothing, just like Quinn wasn't and tied up in their basement for weeks while the school and half the town went crazy. They talked about making popcorn and the movie they were watching, and it just made Santana want to either scream or cry, or punch them both in their faces, but she clamped a hand over her mouth and held it together until she watched their feet walk back out of the kitchen and heard the basement door firmly shut again minutes later.

The second she was sure that they were gone, she climbed out from under the table, stumbling over her own hands and feet before she was able to get upright. Grabbing her backpack, she slung it over her shoulder and dashed towards the living room, passing by the basement as quietly as possible. She was just about to the turn the deadbolt lock on the front door when the door to the basement creaked open again. Rigid, she realized she had nowhere to hide and looked back, waiting again for what appeared to be her imminent doom. Mr. Sanders was standing at the top of the stairs, racing the other way with his hand resting on the door knob as he called back down to Lisa that they forgot their drinks. Santana was considering diving for the staircase he turned.

He stopped and she didn't wait.

**_

* * *

_**

**_A/N: _**_For those of you who might be disappointed because you didn't want Santana to just be the one who found Quinn, do not worry- there is plenty more drama in store (we haven't even gotten back to Brittany yet!). This was all a part of the original plan, and I'd feel bad detouring from it now. Anyway, I'll update as soon as I can- if I'm not here tomorrow, check in on Thursday (I work on Wednesdays), I should have something up by then._


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N:_**_ Whoo- halfway point until I get to where I have no idea what's going to happen next! I was excited, so I just thought I'd point that out, not that it really matters. Also, just a helpful hint- always check if you have online homework due soon BEFORE you start updating a new chapter, or else you'll have to stop in the middle when you suddenly remember, and then it just throws off your whole flow and it sucks and everything takes twice as long to come out and you don't get an update out until 5! and then you only get like three hours of sleep and are cranky all the next day... Regardless of all that, however, I really like this chapter, we officially have now begun the Brittana portion of our featured fic, and here it is! Yaaaay!  
_

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Ten:**

Santana sprinted down the sidewalk as fast as she could, her breath coming in small puffs of air that she could actually see coming out her mouth as she ran. Her bag had been left behind, spilled all over Mr. Sanders' foyer, and her phone completely forgotten, and probably water-logged out in front of his house. Her own house was just three doors ahead of her, she took the last corner a lot harder than she anticipated, and her flats slid across the slick cementer. Ankle twisting painfully, she barely had time to cry out before she landed in a heap, her face buried in the snow, and her left shoe floating in a relatively deep, slushy, puddle. She groaned as she pushed herself upright, regretting her decision to change after Coach had let her go immensely, her sneakers never would have slipped.

An angry shout echoed from close behind her, and she knew she hadn't gotten enough of a head start on Mr. Sanders to waste any time lying around on the ground. Wincing as she pushed herself back up onto her feet, Santana added a little weight to her tender ankle and then continued running without even glancing back. Her legs were burning, her ankle throbbed, and her face was wet and numb with freezing droplets of water, but she didn't stop.

Her heart plummeted when she saw that the driveway along the side of her house was empty. She prayed that her father's car was in the garage as she limped towards the front door, even though she knew it wasn't. She'd forgotten earlier, having been so caught up in Cheerios and having spent the last few nights at Brittany's, but she remember then, her parents had left to go and visit her oldest brother at college on the West Coast. They weren't due back for another three, maybe four, days, depending on what Carlos's schedule looked like.

Jamming her keys into the lock, she threw open the door and stumbled in, slamming it behind her and turning to push all the latches into place, for once thankful for her mother's over paranoid personality, always worried about break-ins. Kicking off her remaining shoe, she ran further into the house, automatically calling up the stairs before she was able to catch herself again. She wished that either of her two other brothers were home, but they went to California too. She only hadn't gone because she couldn't get out of practice, with Coach Sylvester completely berserk.

The adrenaline slammed through her veins, dulling the pain in her ankle to nothing more than a minor annoyance, and she rushed into the kitchen, her trembling hand reaching blindly for the phone on the wall as her eyes darted around the dark room, daring not to turn any lights on. She feels nothing and looks over, finding an old shadow on the wall. She does a double take and curses her parents every which way until Sunday for cancelling their land-line and buying them all cell phones. Screw saving a few bucks. What were you supposed to do when you lost your cell and a psychotic math teacher was on his way to try to kill you? How were you supposed to get help them? Smoke signals?

Turning away from the non-existing phone on the wall, Santana threw open the closest drawer and desperately rummaged for something to defend herself with. Anything. She pulled out some old pens and tossed them on the floor, followed by a notebook, a handful of rubber bands, and a whole bunch of other odds and ends, but she comes up short of finding anything useful, even a pair of rusty old safety-scissors. A crash against the front door sent her jumping and scrambling to open the second drawer, her mind racing to remember where the knives were as her hands fumbled with the knobs, coming up empty every time.

In a brief moment of either idiocy or bravery, she wasn't sure which, Santana glanced up and towards the front door. Mr. Sanders was staring right at her through the glass, she could see Lisa standing behind him. With a bent elbow, he broke clean through the front window panel on the door, reaching in towards the handle, finding a jumbled mess of locks instead. Santana was in the snow-filled backyard before he even got the first lock undone, and was scrambling over the metal fence and into the next yard before her door was even opened.

Running up the back porch of her neighbor's house, Santana reached forward to knock before she even got to the top step, silently praying that they were home and that someone would hear her- going in through the back was an unconventional method of entrance usually saved for sneaking out in the middle of the night. Heart slamming against her ribcage painfully, she looked over just as Mr. Sanders and Lisa stumbled into her backyard. He glares, but holds an arm out to stop Lisa from going any further. His movement is slow and deliberate, and she sees the gun in his waistband as clearly as she sees the snowman Emily must have spent all afternoon building just three feet away from her.

Her hands balled into tiny fists within her sleeves and her eyes clenched shut as she waited, positive they were going to shoot her right then and there. But then the backdoor swung open and warm arms enveloped her before she was even able to open her eyes, a hearty laugh echoing in her ear as she was pulled inside by her hands and face fist into a busty chest.

Maggie, Brittany's mom, released her from the crushing hug only to place a quick kiss on either of Santana's cheeks before before stepping back to hold her out at arm's length, giving her a scrutinizing once over with a wrinkled brow. "No jacket?" she demanded loudly, but not unkindly, "in weather like this?" she threw up hands up dramatically and shook her head with a heavy sigh, "kids!" she declared, like that explained everything. Turning away, she made her way through the cluttered storage on the porch and headed towards the kitchen, beckoning for Santana to follow her. "I'm about to start dinner, would you like to help me?" Maggie called back over her shoulder.

Santana stayed rooted in her spot, watching Maggie step through the sliding glass doors and into the brightly lit kitchen. She allowed herself a short moment to look around the portion of the house she could see, knowing what the rest looked like, even out of sight. She had always loved Brittany's house, ever since the first time she had been invited over after she moved in next door in third grade. Brittany's parents kept the house constantly bright, and it was always full of happy noise, she could only wonder what their electricity bill looked like. Even if she had never truly understood it, it always used to make her feel safe, but now that feeling was gone. She turned around and slammed the backdoor shut, sliding the lock into place and checking it twice. She immediately noticed that Mr. Sanders and his wife had vanished from her backyard.

Spinning around, she called out to Maggie, Maggie looked back, surprised, "is the front door unlocked?" she demanded, Maggie was, at the moment, regrettably, not nearly as paranoid as her own mother. She often left the front door unlocked, sometimes even in the middle of the night, which proved to be helpful for Santana on several occasions, but on this one, she feared it could cost them their lives. Maggie glanced towards living room door, able to tell it was cracked open from where she was standing. "You have to lock it!" Santana all but screamed, hardly able to contain her panic.

Brittany chose that moment to come running down the stairs, sounding more like she was falling head first. She stopped and first looked towards the door, and then, confused, turned towards the kitchen, where she found Santana, still standing on the porch. She flashed her best friend her brightest smile, "I thought I heard you!" she declared. Brittany had been dancing upstairs in her room, waiting for Santana to text her that she was ready to hang out, and hadn't even heard her knock on the back door.

For the moment, Santana ignored Brittany, and focused solely on her mother, her voice low and even as she pleaded for understanding, eyes darting to Brittany every other word, relieved when Brittany soon got absorbed into whatever was on tv. "There are people after me, we have to call the police," she tried to explain about finding Quinn, and the gun, and Mr. Sanders breaking into her house, and _she _breaking into his house, but all she could get out was a strangled cry. Her thoughts were coming too fast and her legs were starting to feel like jello, and her head throbbed, and her ankle hurt, so much so that she could hardly string together a proper sentence or barely even think straight. Maggie scoffed and shook her head good-naturedly with a dismissive wave.

"Don't be ridiculous, Dear," she smiled, well aware of all the trouble Santana had gotten herself in over the years, "I'm sure it's nothing as serious as that. Nobody is after you. Now, come in."

Santana shook her head adamantly, eyes wide and lips pressed in a tight line, "they have a gun!" she insisted, "you have to lock the door."

Maggie threw her head back, letting out a healthy bark of laughter. Mr. Rich leaned in from the living room, tearing his eyes from his program at his wife's outburst. "Hey, there, Miss Santana, long time no see," he teased with a smile, but Santana doesn't return the gesture like she normally would have. Having three draughts of his own, Mr. Rich remained unfazed and shrugged it off as usual teenage hormones and leaned back in his recliner chair, turning the volume of his program back up, but not before yelling, "you two are going to get sick if you stand out there chatting all night."

"Come on," Maggie urged again with a slight jerk of her head and a small smile, "we'll make chocolate cake for dessert."

Santana wanted so much to agree and pretend that nothing was wrong, pretend that everything was the same as it had been the night before when she had slept over, but then the door bell rang and she looked passed Maggie, watching as Brittany automatically skipped to open the door without a second thought. "No, Britt, wait!" she called, but it was too late.

"Oh, hey there, Mr. Sanders," Brittany greeted cheerfully.


	11. Chapter 11

**_A/N: _**_So, what happens when you get a call at 8:30 in the morning on a Friday, and it's your Father, telling you it's your grandfather's 75th birthday and asking what time you can be ready to be picked up at (which wasn't until 9:30pm)? You get dragged 4 hours away for a tasteless (my is like super diabetic so there is no sugar or salt in his house), music-less, friend-less, computer-less, homework-less (yay!), and writing-less (boo) weekend. Then, when I was returned last night, I hung out, watched the VMAs, and painted my nails, so not having an update down at that point was no one's fault but my own, but I'm back now! Mostly because I don't want to do homework, but who really cares why? :P!_

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Eleven:**

As Brittany cheerfully chatted away at the door, she remained oblivious to the fact that Mr. Sanders wasn't listening to a word she said about her last math test. Instead, he kept his eyes focused firmly over her head, his gaze making long, careful sweeps around the inside of her house in search of something- someone, Santana. Mr. Rich clicked mute on the television and rose from his easy chair, making his way over to the front door to greet their guests with a wide smile. He took the door from his daughter and stood in her place, offering Mr. Sanders a stiff handshake as he welcomed teacher and wife into his home with a grand swooping gesture of his arm.

That was it. Santana cursed. She was dead. Dead. They were all dead. Nobody would find their bodies for weeks. And it was all her fault.

Santana wanted to either scream or cry, and to demand to know how they could all be so stupid as Mr. Rich led Mr. Sanders and Lisa into the living room. She loved them like her own family, but, really, how could they just let these psychos into their home without batting an eyelash? Couldn't they _see_? They had a _gun _for crying out loud! Her mouth dropped open silently as she shook her head. Turning panicked eyes to Maggie, she pressed herself further into the corner of the back porch, hoping to god that she would pass unnoticed, but all the while completely aware that that would be just too much to ask for. She had to get away, for her own sake, and theirs. How could she have been so selfish?

"Please," she begged quietly, her voice hardly above a whisper. She didn't dare even glance away from Maggie, fearing that even the slightest movement or sound would give her away, and then that would be it for all of them. "Please," she repeated urgently, "don't let them know that I'm here."

Maggie was about to laugh again and insist that Santana stop being ridiculous and come inside before she froze to death, but found herself stopping short. For the first time since she arrived, Maggie truly looked over the girl who had become so familiar at her house that she was like her own wild, rebellious, strong-willed, nothing like her other three, fourth daughter sometimes. Santana's usually well composed face was pale and ashen, gone was the apathetic countenance she had adopted recently, and back was the child she had watched grow up. Her eyes were wide and terrified, lip and chin trembling threatening, her chest heaving-a mirror image of the little girl who had cried in the middle of the night because she missed her mommy the first night she slept over in fourth grade.

As Santana literally begged for her to believe in what she was saying, Maggie felt herself nodding before she even comprehended the situation. If any of her three biological daughters had asked for her indisputable trust, while being so obviously terrified, she would have given it to them without a single thought, and she would do the same for Santana.

Maggie nodded again, this time more surely, and gave Santana a thin smile, tilting her head in the direction of the old couch they kept against the wall. Santana followed the gesture, but shook her head, confused. "Go," she mouthed, tilting her head again. Santana didn't move. Glancing quickly back into the house, she noted that Richard and Brittany were keeping their two guests entertained for the moment in the living room. Covering the space separating herself from Santana, she took the teenager by her shoulder and turned her towards the old couch, pressing her towards the gap between the couch and the back wall. "Stay here," she ordered quietly, Santana nodded.

Crouched in the corner, and doing her best to stay as small and out of sight as possible, Santana listened to Maggie pick up a random box and make her exaggerated entrance back into the kitchen, loudly greeting Mr. Sanders and drawing as much attention to herself as possible. Santana would've normally at least smiled at the sentiment, but then she thought about how Maggie, Mr. Rich, and Brittany are all standing around and talking with a psychopathic kidnapped-slash-killer, all because she led the said psychopathic kidnapper-slash-killer to their house because she panicked and didn't know how to mind her own damn business and hadn't been gracefully enough to make a clean get away when she couldn't. She ran over her options in her head, contemplating her best plan of action for a clean get away while making sure Brittany and her folks were kept out of any unnecessary harm. Half-listening to the light conversation in the kitchen, she practically gagged on the genuine praise Maggie was giving Mr. Sanders for helping tutor Brittany in math. Forget that Santana had secretly been doing her homework for two months.

When Maggie stepped back into the kitchen, she dropped the box onto the dining room table with a loud clatter, smiling when four faces turned to suddenly look her way, and not sparing a single worry about the obviously now broken contents of the box. Richard raised a single eyebrow at her curiously and she narrowed her eyes slightly, giving him a hard look.

"Mr. Sanders!" she greeted cheerfully, quickly looking away from her husband, "it's so good to see you again, what's the occasion? I hope this is a social visit and that our Brittany hasn't fallen behind again."

"Oh, no, no," Henry waved dismissively, lapsing into his regular teacher-mode, "Brittany's work has been exemplarily lately, you don't have any reason to worry about her anymore."

"Well that's wonderful news," Maggie grinned, "may I offer you two some coffee?"

"Yes, thank you," Henry replied.

"Brittany," Richard clapped a heavy hand on his daughter's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze, she straightened significantly under his direction and looked up expectantly, "would you mind putting on a pot of coffee for us?" Brittany nodded mutely and immediately hurried to do as she was told, taking her mother's place by the counter in the kitchen.

The suddenly lapse in conversation dragged on and drove Santana into immense discomfort. She shifted slightly in her hiding spot, her fingers wrapping tighter around her arms and her numb toes curling inward under her feet as she tried to slide down a little more to keep even further out of sight with little success. Flexible or not, huddled in a tiny ball, she was pretty much as small as she was going to get.

Lisa, on the fringe of the exchange between her husband and these people she didn't even know, was keeping a keen look out around the room. She only happened to glance towards the kitchen and notice the slight movement in the far room beyond the bright linoleum. Removing herself from Henry's side, she shuffled around the edge of the room and moved to investigate. Mr. Rich, who had also moved to the kitchen, unexpectedly stepped in her way with a wide grin, just as she was about to step into the porch.

"It's too cold back there," he explained casually, reaching behind him and pulling the sliding glass door half way shut, "we usually just use it for storage in the winter. But, if you would like, we could all go out front, there's a separate heater set up out there, it's very cozy."

Lisa glanced towards Henry, who, unable to think of any logical argument against moving their conversation to another room, when the kitchen had such limited seating, begrudgingly shrugged his shoulders in response. "That sounds great," she agreed when Henry didn't, Richard smiled and nodded his head.

He turned to Maggie and offered her his hand, which she accept as he pulled her from the table, "I forgot some paperwork upstairs, I'm going to run and get it," he explained, "but I'll meet you outside in a minute?" She nodded and made her way out of the kitchen alone.

"Will you bring the coffee out when it's finished, Brittany? And some milk and sugar?" Maggie asked without looking back or waiting for an answer as she led Mr. Sanders and Lisa out the front door.

Brittany nodded as she watched the front door swing shut with a loud slam and then glanced to the living room as her father quickly disappeared upstairs. She checked the coffee once before making her way out back in search of Santana. She found her best friend still hiding in the corner with her face buried in her hands.

"San?" she asked quietly, frowning when her friend didn't immediately respond. Bending down to her level, Brittany reached forward and gently pulled Santana's hands away from her tear-streaked face, hardly fazed by the sight: Santana cried all the time, it was just a matter of why. "Santana, what's wrong?" she pressed, but Santana only pulled her arms free and shook her head, desperately wiping at the tear-tracks staining her cheeks.

"Brittany," Santana's voice was stuffy and muffled, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"What are you talking about? You didn't do anything," she insisted.

Santana shook her head even more, "you don't even know."

Brittany was about to argue further when her father's shadow appeared behind her. She looked up and backward, noticing the distinctly worried look on his face even when he didn't look down at her, instead, keeping his gaze firmly locked on the front door. "I'm going to bring the coffee out to your mother," he said suddenly, she nodded in response, "why don't you take Santana upstairs and hang out there for a while?"

Mr. Rich goes back to the kitchen and begins to rummage through the cabinets in search of some mugs, leaving the girls alone. Brittany returns her attention back to Santana, who's stopped crying for the moment, and she staring at the back door thoughtfully. Sighing, Brittany reached forward and took Santana's hand away, playing with her cold fingers, unsure if Santana could even feel her.

"If I sneak out the back while they're out front," Santana began in a faraway drawl, "then you could wait a few minutes before letting it slip to your parents that I stopped by, in front of Mr. Sanders, then they should leave and try to follow me, but, by then, I'll have gotten away, and you guys can get out until it's safe, and I can get help, and we'll all be good."

Brittany stopped and looked up in surprise, "what are you talking about?"

"I can't stay here, Britt, it's not safe," Santana insisted, angry when Brittany didn't get it, especially when she shook her head again. "You don't get it," she growled, Brittany just shrugged one shoulder and stood up, pulling Santana by the hand with her.

"You can explain it to me upstairs," Brittany suggested, "and you're not going anywhere without any shoes on."

When they got upstairs, Brittany locked her bedroom door, at Santana's insistence, but refused to moved her desk to barricade it until she got some answers. Santana huffed and sat down on the bed with her arms crossed as Brittany made her way to her dresser to turn off the music she'd accidentally left on when she had raced downstairs earlier.

"I shouldn't still be here. You should've just let me sneak out. I shouldn't have even come here in the first place, it wasn't right," Santana took a shaky breath, shaking her head and absentmindedly rubbing her hands together, trying to work some warmth back into her frozen fingertips.

Brittany looked up from her iPod-Dock and frowned, doing her best Santana-stop-it glare, but it didn't work when Santana wasn't paying attention. She watched as the tears suddenly welled back up in Santana's eyes, "I have to go," she declared, rising from the bed. Brittany wasted no time pushing her back down, Santana glared dangerously at her.

If push really came to shove, she knew that Santana could beat the crap out of her, but Santana would never do that, and Brittany wasn't above tickling, or actually sitting on her friend, so she wasn't worried.

After a beat, Santana's anger faded and she looked down at the folded hands in her lap, frowning, "I'm so sorry."

Brittany picked up a pillow, ready to smack some sense in to her friend when a heavy thump in the hallway caused her to jump and Santana to practically scream.

"Miss Lopez," the even, borderline kind-sounding, voice of Lisa Sanders called as she made her way slowly down the hallway, "come out, come out, where ever you are."

Brittany turned to Santana, Santana caught her look but only shook her head in response.

"You'd better come out, little girl," Lisa snapped, her voice hardening, "I have no time for games. We have a little business to attend to at home, and if you don't come along nicely, now, we're just going to have to take it out on this lovely little family you've hidden yourself amongst."

Immediately realizing that Lisa probably now had the gun, Santana rushed for the door, hand going for the lock. Brittany grabbed Santana from behind and pulled her away before she managed to regain enough control over her fingers to get at the door properly.

"Brittany, let me go!" she demanded, but Brittany didn't release her, or even ease up.

"No, San," Brittany argued in a harsh whisper, causing Santana to realize she had been whispering too, "you can't go out there!" She still didn't know _what _was going on, but she knew now it couldn't be good, and that Santana most definitely had to stay put.

Santana opened her mouth to respond, her fingers prying at Brittany's hand, but she stopped at the sound of a door being opened, a burst of Beiber, and tiny feet padding out into the hallway. Brittany's grip around her waist slackened, but she couldn't feel her legs to move. "Hey, what's going on? Who are you?" it was Emily.


	12. Chapter 12

**_A/N: _**_*Bwa ha ha ha haaaa* (this is my evil laugh). In multiple recent comments/messages it has been insinuated that I am, in fact, some form of evil. I rather enjoy this assumption and now plan on living it up to the fullest, so be warned- you asked for it! :D_

_Yeeeeah… don't ask me what that's supposed to mean. I have like no idea. It's pretty much an empty threat to make myself feel cool, I like to pretend I'm bad-ass sometimes :P_

_Anywaaaaays- CHAPTER TWELVE! Whoot._

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Twelve:**

Santana had honestly forgotten all about Emily playing in her room. Hell, she hadn't even realized Emily was even home. Granted, she didn't really know where else she expected the kid to be besides home, but still! Her forehead pressed against the wood as she strained her ears to listen, her own rapid heartbeat and Brittany's breath on the back of her neck louder than anything on the other side of the door.

"B?" she whispered, her voice cracked. Brittany's front was pressed tightly to Santana's back, as they both waited, she nodded to show that she was listening, but didn't dare to speak. "I have to go out there, ok?" Santana knew just when Brittany was about to argue, so she spun around and cut her off sharply with hard look. "Britt," she state firmly, Brittany's mouth snapped shut. "Think about Emily. You have to get her. I'll go with them. You take care of your sister. I'll be fine." Brittany was doubtful, and didn't bother even trying to hide it. "I'll be fine," Santana repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. She shrugged with a half-assed smile, "it's not like you won't know who has me if I suddenly go missing, right? It'll be fine, ok?"

It took her a minute, but Brittany finally nodded her head with a heavy sigh, "ok."

"Right," Santana's arm fell and she turned back to face the door, her hand hesitating on the handle, "so you grab Emily and hide, got it? You don't come out." Brittany let her head drop to Santana's shoulder before reluctantly agreeing, her face set in a firm frown- she would, of course, do what Santana asked, but it didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

"San?" she asked quietly, her fingers looping through the back belt loop of Santana's jeans. She closed her eyes when she felt Santana go rigid, "I love you." Santana felt the reply catch at the back of her throat, and shook her head and pulled open the door before she responded.

Lisa was standing at the far end of the hallway, facing Brittany's bedroom door expectantly with an armful of wriggling blonde eight year old. Emily stopped struggling as soon as she saw her sister and Santana. "Well, there you are, girls," Lisa smiled sweetly, tilting her head to the side slightly, "I've been looking all over for you."

Emily remained unmoving, looking back and forth between the strange woman who'd grabbed her from her room, to her sister and her best friend. "Let her go," Santana's voice was shaking. She was looking right over Emily's head, and straight at the strange lady, but she knew Santana meant her. The lady, however, appeared to not know what Santana was talking about. "Let Emily go," Santana demanded a second time, Emily felt the hand around her upper arm twist and she yelped, trying to pull away instinctively. Lisa looked down at Emily, taken aback, but didn't make any move to apologize or let her go. Santana stepped forward from Brittany, "Now," she snapped.

Lisa looked from the little girl to the seething teenager and flashed a bright smile before she roughly shoved Emily away from her, not caring as she stumbled to catch herself. Brittany rushed forward to grab her before she fell. Once she had her sister back, she hesitated besides Santana, but a single glare sent her running for Emily's door, just like she'd promised. Santana watched her go.

"Ok, what do you want?" she heard Santana ask as she shut, and locked, the door behind her. She pushed Emily further into the room and gestured for her to keep quiet, Emily nodded her head, mimicking her sister and pressing one finger to her lips.

While Brittany remained rooted by the door, Emily wandered over to her bed and settled down on the floor against the base of her footboard, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit to her chest. Brittany had given it to her when she was born, his name was Mr. Cottonbutt- Santana had been Emily's age when she named it, but she still laughed about it. His purple bow tie had faded to a pale pink over the years, and his one ear had had to be stitched back on, and now stuck up kind of funny, but he still made her feel safe and warm, so she squeezed him even tighter and buried her face in his matted fur. Turning her head to the side, she looked up from Mr. Cottonbutt, watching as her sister started to worriedly pace in front of the door.

Even without her ear to the door, Brittany could hear arguing: loud, angry, arguing. She'd never heard her friend sound so mad before, not even when Santana was screaming at her brothers for walking into her room without asking first when she was sleeping over. Santana yelled some more, cut off by a resounding slap, Brittany winced and pulled away from the door again, wanting nothing more than to be in the hallway with her. The raised voices quieted to a low mumble, then nothing. She approached the door again, hoping to hear something.

Brittany didn't concentrate very often, but when she did she got _really _absorbed. She was _so _focused that, when something brushed by her leg, jerking her back into awareness, she jumped and nearly screamed. Looking down, she saw the top of Emily's curly head. With one arm, her little sister held desperately to her legs, the other still clutched Mr. Cottonbutt. She could feel hot tears rubbing off on the side of her knee. "Brittany?" Emily sniffed, turning her big, watery, blue eyes upwards, "I'm scared, what's happening?"

Without much thought, Brittany finally turned away from the door and bent down, scooping Emily up into her arms and holding her close. Emily was tall, just like Brittany and their other sister, so her legs hung down low on either side of Brittany as she allowed herself to be carried to the bed. "I'm scared," she repeated quietly.

Brittany forced a small smile and tucked a bit of Emily's hair behind her ear, resting their foreheads together. "I dunno, Em," she admitted after a moment, "but it's going to be ok. Santana promised. We trust Santana, right?"

Emily sniffed again, using Mr. Cottonbutt's crooked ear to wipe the tears from her face as she nodded her head, "I don't like that lady."

"Me neither."

Lisa gripped Santana's wrist tightly as she roughly tugged her forward, twisting her arm as she dragged her towards the staircase in small, short, hurried steps. "Now," her hair was a mess, and she was seething, "we're going to go downstairs, and you're going to smile and act like everything is fine," Lisa ordered, gripping Santana's wrist until she heard a whimper. "You're going to swear that whatever you told them about us before was all a horrible, made-up, lie, that you concocted for attention, got it?" she stopped and stared at her until Santana nodded. Lisa smiled again, "When we leave, Henry will decide what to do with you. He isn't very happy, you know. He has other things to do than play games with _you_." Santana could think of a million and one snarky comments to respond to that, but figured it was best to remaining silent and continued to listen as Lisa rambled on, mostly to herself. "He has a job to finish up, you know," Lisa continued, "it's cute, the way it drives him crazy. I love it when he gets like this. He's never had such a hard time before. She's very sick, you know. He's been taking care of her for so long. We never should have left, he's going to be so upset."

When Lisa tugged her forward again, she was not only hit with the wall painfully knocking into her shoulder, but also with the realization that there was no way Lisa had the gun. First off, she would have used it, or at least would have shoved it in Santana's face to try and get her to shut up earlier. Mr. Sanders sent her in his place, but he obviously didn't trust her enough to hand it over- she was just like a puppy, trying desperately to please her Master by playing fetch. With Santana's life. Santana stopped and ripped her hand from Lisa's grasp, stumbling backwards into the wall when the resistance gave way easier than she had anticipated.

Coming to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs, Lisa turned, her eyes wide with surprise after Santana pulled away. "You're supposed to do as you told!" she snapped, taking a threatening step forward and raising her hand, "you disobedient little-" but she didn't have the chance to finish her threat before Santana jumped forward, shoving Lisa back against the table in the hall.

Santana's hand immediately gripped the long locks of Lisa's hair, tugging and ripping as hard as she could. Lisa yelled out, grasping about her abused scalp with one hand, and trying to defend herself against Santana's onslaught with the other, but the Cheerio was pissed, and she could do very little besides trying to feebly push her away.

Lisa fell, and Santana took a step back to catch her breath, her chest heaving and entire body trembling as the adrenaline continued to rush. In the tiny lapse between attacks, Lisa retaliated. She was up from the floor and in front of Santana before Santana had a chance to react. She slammed her back against the wall, her fingers reaching out and digging into the young girl's face. Santana cried out and stumbled away, barely managing to stay upright as her hands went to her face to check for blood. She was actually relieved to find immense, throbbing, pain on either side of her face because there was no torn skin. When Lisa pulled her own hand away from her head, she found her fingers stained red, and could feel the steady trickle of blood dripping down under her hairline. She cursed and jumped at Santana again, this time with her fists. Santana fought back, and, in their struggle, they fell forward, pitching them both headfirst over the top of the stairs, tumbling down to the bottom.

Brittany had heard the first three thumps against the wall outside Emily's room, but the fourth sounded so much worse. Standing, she brought Emily, who was still clutching to her chest, up with her and quickly walked over to the closet, depositing her little sister there. "Be quiet and stay here until Mom or Dad comes to get you, ok?" she ordered sternly. Emily, her eyes wide, nodded silently as Brittany closed the doors and hurried out of the room.

Santana and Lisa were lying in a tangled heap on the ground at the base of the stairs, and neither were moving when Brittany rushed to the top and looked down. The first thing she noticed was the blood. So much blood. It was staining the surrounding white carpet a dark red that was never going to come out. She'd accidentally spilled cool-aid on the carpet once, that was years ago, and it took eight team cleanings to get out, that blood was never going to lift. Her mouth fell open and she felt her head swarm when she called down to Santana and received no answer. Blindly reaching out, she braced herself against the banister to keep from falling.

Santana was sitting up and rubbing her shoulder before Brittany made it even halfway down the stairs. She looked around, dazed, but pretty sure she wasn't otherwise hurt, when the door flew open and she looked towards the front of the house. Mr. Rich and Mr. Sanders both came running in, practically tripping over one another. Mr. Rich stopped short, his face going pale, she frowned at him. "Oh my God," he exclaimed quietly to himself. Santana looked down, making sure she wasn't missing a limb or something, and then screamed, scrambling off the floor.

Lisa's eyes were open wide, but they were unfocused and unblinking, staring blankly at the ceiling over her head without seeing. She was dead.

Her blood was all over Santana's back, her clothes were sticking to her, and her hands were covered. She screamed and backed further away. Brittany watched in amazement from the middle of the steps, her one foot paused mid-descent. She'd known one of them was hurt, it was obvious, but she never thought- her eyes flickered from Santana to Lisa's body. There was a dead woman lying at the bottom of her stairs, in the middle of her living room.

Mr. Sanders cautiously walked closer. He dropped to his knees besides his wife, crawling forward until his knees were bent on either side of her head. His hands hovered over her face, but he didn't dare touch her, incase that would suddenly make his nightmare real. His shoulders began to shake, and his mouth open and closed silently as he looked around the room hopelessly, looking for anything that might out, but finding nothing. His wife was gone. Dead.

Santana almost felt sorry for him, almost felt sorry that it was that had died, and not here when it was kind of her fault. If she hadn't pulled away, they wouldn't have fought, and if they hadn't fought, they wouldn't have fallen. But then she remembered Quinn, the gun, that Lisa and Mr. Sanders were probably planning to kill _her _in the first place, and the fact that Lisa most definitely wouldn't have been the least bit upset if it had been Santana who had died in her place. Her face hardened and her hands balled into fists.

As the tears streamed down his face, Mr. Sanders looked up and accidentally caught her eye. She looked away, but not before she saw the pure rage and hatred flash through his eyes. "You!" his voice cracked. He rose to his feet, stepping over Lisa, and turned to face her as he reached into his jacket, retrieving the gun from his waistband, bringing it to point straight at her. Brittany gasped and stumbled over a step, landing hard on her backside while still clinging to the handrail. Mr. Rich cursed out loud. Santana said nothing.

"Shut the door," Mr. Sanders ordered suddenly, breaking the almost unbearable silence in half. When nobody moved, he clicked the hammer of his revolver in place and grabbed Santana, pressing the muzzle to her head and glaring at Mr. Rich, daring him to try anything else, "Shut the damn door!"

Mr. Rich eyed the math teacher wearily for a moment, looking from the gun, to Santana, and back up at Henry. Slowly, he nodded his head, raising his hands up in surrender as he moved slowly backwards to the door, trying to remain as unthreatening looking as possible. He was a great deal bigger than Mr. Sanders, sure, but Mr. Sanders had a gun and didn't look like he was afraid to use it. He didn't turn until he felt a cold burst of wind whipping through the open door. When he moved to shut it, he caught a glimpse of Maggie, still standing at the edge of their driveway, talking to the mailman. The mailman looked up and saw him in the door, he smiled and waved, Mr. Rich didn't smile back.

"You killed her," Mr. Sanders was mumbling, pacing around the back of the room, dragging Santana with him. "You killed her," he repeated, "my wife, my beautiful wife." He was mostly talking to himself, but then he spoke directly to Santana, "you're going to pay, you're all going to fucking pay." As Mr. Rich slid the lock on the front door into place, Henry spun around, this time pointing the gun up at Brittany, "you," he snapped, ignoring Santana as she protested, "get down here."

Brittany did as she was told, momentarily glancing back up the stairs before she descended to the living room. Emily's door was still firmly shut. She only hoped the eight year old would do as she had asked, for once. Stepping carefully around the body still sprawled out on the floor, she crossed the living room and stood beside her father, waiting.

"What was that?" Henry practically shouted, spinning around the room wildly, eyes darting from corner to corner, "that sound!" Then the others heard it. Sirens. Off in the distance, but coming rapidly closer. "The police!" he gaped, face going pale.

"I don't get it, how'd they know?" Brittany wondered out loud, her gaze lingering on Lisa's body.

Her father shifted uncomfortably, "I called them," he admitted quietly, causing Mr. Sanders to turn his attention from Santana to the blonde pair. Mr. Rich straightened his back and squared his shoulders, protectively stepping forward from Brittany. "When Santana first got here," he elaborated, "and I went up to my office. I knew something wasn't right. Of course, I had no idea," he stopped, gesturing towards the gun in lieu of further explanation. "It really took them long enough to get here," he criticized coldly.

Mr. Sanders released Santana suddenly, shoving her away and face first onto the ground before approached the man that towered a good five inches taller than him and weight a decent amount heavier than himself with his head held high, eyes narrowed and lip pulled back in a snarl. The gun gripped tightly in Mr. Sanders' hand and the two girls huddled on the ground near the coffee table were the only things that kept Mr. Rich from lashing out right then. "I'm going to make you sorry for this," Henry spoke quietly, so that neither of the girls could hear him. "I'm going to make you wish I'd killed you instead," without further warning, the smaller man brought the rear of the gun upward, smashing it against Mr. Rich's jaw line with a loud cracking, sending him to the floor, out cold just as the police cruisers pulled in up front.

**_

* * *

_**

**_A/N: _**_See? I'm not really evil. I had plenty of opportunity to be evil there, and I resisted. Heck, I originally planned on leaving Santana in a pool of blood! But then I figured you all knew she wasn't going to be dead anyways, so that was only half as much fun as it could have been- note to self: never give away the ending that everyone is going to be alive in the end, because then I can't torment my readers ;)_


	13. Chapter 13

**_A/N: _**_Hello again! Before we get started, I would like to apologize for two things. Firstly, it was the weekend again, and this time I was even home (well, at school), yet I didn't get out a single update! See, I just got a new computer, so I've been playing around with it all day. Second, well… you'll have to wait and see to understand completely, and then you'll probably kill me, because this does close to nothing to tie up the specific cliffhanger from last chapter. But, then again, if you kill me, you'll never get to read the end! So HA! _

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Thirteen:**

After a suddenly burst of rapid fire from somewhere off his side of the split screen, Puck watched his character let out a groan and dramatically fall from the ground, his score in the corner of the screen immediately dropping down to zero.

"Finn!" he growled, turning to glare at his best friend beside him. They were both currently sitting on the floor of Finn and Kurt's shared bedroom, far closer to the large flat screen television than safety recommendations suggested, with an x-box controller in each of their hands. "What the hell was that, man?" he demanded, throwing his controller onto his lap, "you fucking killed me!"

Finn smirked, turning his head towards Puck to respond, but not removing his eyes from the lit up screen. "Dude," he chuckled, "you got in the way. Watch what you're doing."

"That's not cool," Puck snapped, shoving Finn hard in the shoulder, "I'm not on my game right now."

Finn's smirked faded at the implication of that statement, "Yeah, well..." he mumbled quietly, "nobody is on their game right now."

"Children," Kurt chasted with a sigh. He was laying on his back with his feet propped up on the headboard of his bed while he was trying, hopelessly, to concentrate on his magazine on the other side of the room, trying to ignore the presence of the other two boy's company and everything that had been going on the last two weeks. "Can you at least _pretend _to be civilized, please?" he asked without looking over.

Puck turned and shot a deadly glare in Kurt's direction for a minute before running a hand across his fuzz-covered head and looking back thoughtfully at the screen. "Forget this," he grumbled, standing up suddenly, his remote clattering on the floor.

"Hey!" Finn cried, eyes gone wide, and thumbs flying over the buttons frantically in different combinations, "we're playing live! You're going to get us killed- you can't just walk away!"

"Watch me," Puck replied stubbornly, half heartedly kicking at his discarded controller and missing, "I'm going to get something to eat."

Finn was quiet for a long moment, mouth hanging open and eyes still glued to the flashing screen. His shoulders visibly relaxed when he didn't immediately get shot and killed. "Oh, ok," he mumbled offhandedly, "bring me some chips."

"Yeah, whatever," Puck turned away from the tv and made his way through the temporarily overly furnished room, smacking Kurt's boots off the edge of his headboard as he stopped at the edge of his bed. "Come on, Hummel," he ordered when Kurt gaped up at him angrily, "make yourself useful. Show me the kitchen."

Kurt sat up with a huff, throwing his magazine down to the side. "It wouldn't kill you to say 'please,' you know," he snapped indignantly. He took his time straightening his clothes and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before turning to lead Puck up the stairs like any good host would do.

"So, like," Finn paused the game and turned as Puck headed down the stairs with an overflowing bowl of chips in his hands, Kurt following close behind him with three glass bottles of orange soda. "When does your mom get home?" Puck asked thoughtfully.

Finn shrugged his shoulders, "I dunno, late, why?"

"What about Burt?" Puck glanced over his shoulder at Kurt, who's eyes went wide.

"He'll be home in a few hours," Kurt replied quickly, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, "I have to echo Finn and ask, why?"

Puck tried to look innocent as he sat back down next to Finn, placing the bowl in between them and picking up his controller again, "I was just wondering if we could throw a part here sometime, this place is hoping."

"You are _not _throwing a party here with all of your hooligan friends," Kurt stated firmly.

Finn smirked as he watched a very flustered Kurt do his best to argue against Puck's incessant pestering, and obviously failing. "Come on, man," he eventually said, coming to Kurt's rescue an excruciating minute later, lightly smacking Puck on his chest. "Burt would-" he was cut off as his phone let out a loud shrill from his pocket, "Hello?"

"Finn!" he winced and held the phone away from his ear.

"Oh, hey, Rachel," he glanced over just in time to catch both Puck and Kurt making frighteningly similar disgusted faces. He angrily waved them off and turned his back as the pair dissolved into a rare moment of shared laughter, albeit at Finn's expense. "What's up?" he asked, shoving one finger into his other ear to drone them out.

"Have you seen the news?" Rachel demanded from the other end of the phone, practically shouting. She was pacing back and forth in her pink and fluffy room, practically strangling the stuffed bear she held in her vice grip.

Finn shifted, his eyes darting back to Puck, who was still watching him with a smug look on his face. Behind him, he saw Kurt get up and excuse himself back upstairs. "Uh, I don't," he lowered his voice and turned away from Puck again, Puck just shrugged and picked up Finn's controller, "I don't really watch the news."

Rachel was frantic and threw the bear across her room, "Well turn it on! Channel 7!"

"Can it wait?" he asked nervously, "Me and Puck are kind of in the middle of something right now."

He could hear her aggravated sigh through the phone and fumbled for the remote, already knowing the answer, "NOW, Finn! This is more important than your stupid game!"

"Ok, ok, gimme a sec," he mumbled, looking for the right button, "were you on tv again, or something?" he asked with a half smirk as he finally found the input button and pushed it.

"Hey!" Puck jumped when the game he had become reabsorbed in suddenly switched to the television, "what's the big deal?" he demanded.

Finn didn't say anything as he switched the channel to 7. He pointed to the house behind the talking reporter, looking to Puck, "Do we know that house?"

Puck leane din close to get a better look before nodding his head surely. "Yeah, that's Britt's place, right next door is Santana's," he explained, Rachel, watching her own television set, and the two boys all fell silent as the reporter continued on without saying much of anything other than that she was waiting for further news from the police. "What's going on?" Puck turned to Finn, "why are they on the news?"

"Rach," Finn leaned back into his phone, "what's going on?"

"Mr. Sanders, that new math teacher that everyone was in love with? Well, he is _totally _insane!" she explained hurriedly as the tv cut away to commercial, "he and his wife have been holding Brittany, her father, and Santana hostage for the last two hours. I only just found out about it a few minutes ago. The police haven't been able to get a line inside yet to talk to anybody, but they interviewed Brittany's mom, and she said that Santana told her he had a gun before he barricaded them all inside, so the police are treating them as being armed and dangerous, with at least one weapon, but possibly more."

"This is awful!" Finn exclaimed, his mouth hanging open, "what do we do? Do you know if they're ok?"

"What's happening?" Puck pressed urgently, leaning forward and watching Finn with wide eyes.

Kurt appear again on the stairs, glancing over and realizing the television was no longer filled with overly violent graphic computer images, but a furniture store commercial instead. "Have you two morons finally finished your juvenile game?" His smile faded when neither of them responded. "What happened? What's wrong?" he asked, noting that Finn was still on the phone, then he rolled his eyes, "did Rachel lose her singing voice again?"

"Finn, we _have _to get over there!" Rachel insisted, well aware that all this shouting was probably doing irrevocable damage to her voice.

"Uh, right, yeah," Finn stuttered nervously, "you're right," unsure of what to do, he turned to Puck, "Puck has his truck!" Puck immediately sat up straight, "will you drive us?"

"Absolutely," Puck nodded, jumping to his feet and searching his pockets for his keys. "It'll be a tight fit, with the four of us," he gestured to Finn and his phone, obviously meaning Rachel, and then back at himself and then Kurt, who's eyes went wide at the attention, "but we can be to Rachel's in five."

Listening to Noah on the other end, Rachel began to hurry about her room, pulling things out of her dresser and throwing them on the floor in search of her hat and gloves, "I'll be ready then. I'm going to go and call the others in the mean time. Just beep when you get here." Without so much as a goodbye, she hung up the phone and Finn did the same, climbing to his feet.

"Rachel's?" Kurt echoed, "why are we going to Rachel's? What's going on?" he repeated.

Puck slapped a heavy hand on Kurt's shoulder, "get your coat, Hummel, we've got to go."

An hour later, it was snowing, and most of the Glee Club was gathered on the road, as close to the police barrier as they could get with half of the street, huddled close together in a small circle for warmth. "Th-this is awful," Tina's teeth chattered, the rest of the group nodded. For the majority of the time they'd been standing there, nobody had spoken, they had just all waited and watched.

"And it's ridiculous!" Puck snapped, jerking his hands towards the houses, "first Quinn decides to run away, and now _this_? It's fucking insane."

Mercedes stepped away from the group and tried to lean around the tall man standing in front of her to get a better look at the house surrounded in spot lights. "I hope they're alright," she sighed before turning back to face the others, "how could something like this even happen?"

"Yeah," Puck nodded, his eyebrows brought close together, "Don't schools have to do like background checks, or something?"

Kurt huffed and pulled his coat closer together before nodding his head, "I always thought they were certainly supposed to."

"Maybe they did," Artie suggested with a shrug of his shoulders, "Mr. Sanders could have just gone nuts or something."

"And his wife?" Rachel argued, "I highly doubt it. Two people don't just randomly snap at the same time and kidnap two students and their family out of the blue without there having been some form of mental instability beforehand. That just doesn't make sense."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Yes, because you're such an expert on mental health."

From beside him, Mercedes couldn't help but snicker a tiny bit, "well…" her implication wasn't lost on him, and he laughed. Rachel shot him a dirty look.

"Did either of them even have Mr. Sanders as a teacher?" Artie asked, doing his best to settle the fight before it started.

Mercedes looked away from the seething Rachel, "Brittany was in his study group."

"Santana didn't go to math," Puck added, "I don't know if _she _even knew who her teacher was."

"It's ridiculously cold," Kurt declared thoughtfully after a silent moment.

Tina nodded her head in agreement, "I'm freezing."

"Maybe we should go?" Artie offered.

Mercedes shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest, "I don't think so," she stated firmly, "We're staying."

"I have to agree with Mercedes," Rachel nodded her head, stepping up beside Mercedes and mimicking her pose, "Brittany and Santana are a part of Glee Club. We're a family. We can't just abandon them at a time like this."

"Abandon them?" Artie repeated, Rachel nodded, "What good are we doing them out here? We can always come back if something changes. Plus," he turned his head to look around the crowd, "I don't know how long my dad is going to want to wait."

"Well, no one is stopping you from leaving," Puck shoved his hands into his pockets, still starring at the house, he hadn't looked away yet. "But I'm with Rachel and Mercedes," he stated stubbornly, "I think we should all stay here, for when they come out." No one suggested that they might now.

Mercedes shook her head and looked away from the police men she had been watching amble about, "I don't understand why they don't just _do _something, already."

"Hostage situations are very delicate," Tina stated simply. She got several funny looks and shrugged, "don't you guys watch tv? They never just run into a house blind, especially if there are women and children involved."

"That's such bullshit," Puck growled, finally looking away from the house, "Like how is that fair? Since I'm a dude, it's ok if I get shot?"

A crack echoed over their heads, and Puck's head snapped back towards the house. For a brief moment after the noise, everything else was silent, but then someone in the watching crowd scream, and chaos broke out. Police ran forward with their guns ready at their shoulder, reporters grabbed their camera men and jumped recklessly over the barrier, while onlookers either ducked down or ran to their houses. Finn grabbed Rachel, and pulled her to the ground with the rest of the Club, while Puck remained the only one standing. Behind the closed curtains, he saw two quick flashes of light, simultaneously followed by two more loud snaps of noise in quick succession.

Before the police even made it to the house, the front door flew open and Richard stumbled out. In the bright spotlights, the dried, but still bloody, gash on his forehead, and the fresh blood streaming down the side of his body from his shoulder stood out in harsh contrast on his ashen face and blue-button down shirt. In each hand he held the arm of one of the Cheerios, pulling them forward. Brittany was on his right, and was also half-helping him remain upright, while Santana was on his left, balancing Emily on her hip while trying to keep up. He made it three steps into the front yard before collapsing while the police rushed inside.

Without waiting for the go-ahead, Maggie broke away from the line of police cars she'd been standing near and ran towards her front-yard. A police officer tried to stop her, but she pushed him away, knocking him to the ground without a thought. Given their all-clear, the awaiting paramedics followed her into the grass as she dropped next to her knees by her husband.

"Ma'am, please," one of the EMTs placed a hand on her shoulder, "we need to get closer to work on him," when she didn't respond, he more urgently said, "we need you to move, Ma'am, we have to look at his injuries." Nodding weakly, Maggie allowed herself to be helped off the ground and immediately turned, looking around wildly, until she spotted Brittany, standing at the edge of all the commotion surrounding her father as the paramedics ripped his shirt open.

"Brittany!" she cried, Brittany's head jerked up and she looked over just in time for her mother to grab her and wrap her in the tightest hug she'd ever received, while kisses and tears were spotted all of her face.

"Mom!" she gasped in surprised, "Mom, it's ok, it's ok," she repeated, trying to pull away, but Maggie, having thought she might've lost her girls, was not letting go.

Santana was still holding Emily, watching the commotion in the street numbly, oblivious as police officer and paramedic alike rushed passed her. The little girl's face was still buried in the crook of Santana's neck, so she'd yet to spot, or be spotted, by her mother. Santana hardly even felt Emily's weight until she was suddenly lifted away. Hands emptied, she reacted instinctively and reached to grab her back before even looking over. She found a police officer with Emily in his arms, saying something that Santana couldn't concentrate on, the ringing in her ears too loud, so she continued to try and grab the girl until he turned and handed her to a woman while keeping a hand on Santana's shoulder, holding her in place.

"No!" she cried, suddenly finding her voice when Emily looked up and realized she was being taken away and began to cry again. She fought against the man until a hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she came face to face with Brittany. Brittany gathered Santana into her arms, and Santana allowed herself to melt in the hug for a long moment, letting her eyes flutter shut until that blurry bit of unmoving blonde hair and a red skirt flashed in her mind again, causing her to go rigid and to push away from Brittany, "Quinn!" she gasped.

She didn't say anything to the police officer as she turned and sprinted out of the yard, but he followed her anyway, calling for two more to help him as she jumped the barrier and began pushing her way through the crowds of people, some of whom even tried to help stop her as the officers ordered her back. She heard them, but didn't listen, and kept running. She saw her phone, frozen to the ground, but didn't stop to try and pick it up as she raced inside that little grey house at the end of her street.

"Quinn!" she called, throwing the door open and running inside, sliding through the contents of her bag, and ignoring the shattered porcelain pieces from the vase she'd broken still all over the ground. She came to an abrupt half at the top of the basement stairs, unable to venture down into the darkness. The officer caught up with her then, his partners sliding in the house just behind him as he wrapped his arms around her middle, trying to heave her out. "No!" she shouted, twisting away, landing on her backside when she jerked out of his grasp. "She's here! Quinn- they had her, look," she pointed to the stairs.

The first officer remained in his spot, standing directly behind her, while one of his partners took out a flashlight and crept down the stairs, one hand on his gun. He disappeared from sight, and it felt like hours as Santana waited on the hardwood floor. He called back up a few seconds later, his voice strained, "Oh, good god- get a paramedic, Mike, she's still alive!"


	14. Chapter 14

**_A/N: _**_So who watched on Tuesday? Huh? Huh? Well, I did! And, yeah… I didn't like it. So that's all the excited you're going to get out of me about it. I'm just dying for next week though! _

_Anyways, yeah… I went MIA again, didn't I? I'm really sorry. I kind of detoured from the original plan last chapter, and sequentially got completely lost, with no idea what was supposed to happen next, and people kept pointing out holes I'd (unintentionally) left, so I felt like I had to fix those, and all the others minor mistakes I made, so everything just kind of… stopped. But I got some super awesome advice, and made a new plan after this chapter, so now I'm back! I'm kind of winging it, which is fun in a really stressful way, so if the next few chapters are choppy, that's why, but, at least I'm posting something again, right? (Hint: the answer is "right!")_

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Fourteen:**

Puck was the first to visit Quinn. Finn had tried to convince him to just go home, and Puck had, in turn, convinced Finn that he would. It was pathetic, really. Serious, who did Finn think he was talking to? Puck didn't take orders from anybody. So, as soon as he was out of sight of the Hummel homestead after dropping Rachel, Finn, and Kurt back off at their houses after all of the action died down, he turned around and headed in the opposite direction towards the hospital.

The hospital was generally a good twenty minute drive to the other side of the city, but he had no qualms about breaking the speed limit, and there was very little traffic, so he made it in just over half the time. Leaving his truck at the top of the visitor's parking garage, he took the winding staircase, two at a time, to the bottom and walked through the automatic sliding emergency room entrance.

He hated hospitals- like _really _hated them. They were too bright, too cold, always busy, and always reeked of the very distinct stench of sick people and too much sterilizer. His sister used to get chronic ear infections when she was a baby, and sometimes it was pretty serious, so he'd actually spent a fair amount of time sitting around in waiting rooms. But, now, he made it a point to not visit whenever possible, the only exception had been Beth- but she was his daughter, he had to make an exception. He didn't even go when his Grandfather had been admitted for two weeks, he'd received hell for it, sure, but he didn't cave. That's how much he hated it. Plus, the old man pulled through just fine, no big deal.

Once he found out that Quinn, still 16, was being roomed in the pediatric wing up on the fourth floor, he almost gave up and went home. He knew there was no way he would be able to sneak passed those stuffy nurses unnoticed, if they were anything like they had been all those years back. Sighing, he decided to wait, and stepped outside, pulling his phone from his pocket. There was one other person he could check up on to quell his nerves that had bundled up over the last few hours. The doctor that passed him on his way into work jumped and gave him a frightened look when Puck suddenly started sputtering curses when he was greeted with a pre-recorded message. He tried Santana's number once more, and then switched to Brittany's, neither answered.

Resigning much more quietly to the second voice-message, he trudged back inside with his hands shoved in his pockets. The doctor from earlier stared at him his entire way to the elevator on the opposite side of the room.

He pulled all the stops out at the nurse's station on the fourth floor. He did the whole "she's my sister" card, and laid it on pretty thick too, turning on the waterworks and everything. When that didn't work, he turned to shameless flirting, which usually got him anything he wanted, but the woman on duty only gave him a bored glance up from her paperwork and then told him to go home and come back during normal visiting hours, which didn't start until 8am. Puck, naturally, couldn't wait that long, and made a big show of marching off in a huff, heading in the direction of the elevator before veering off down one of the side hallways.

Wandering around for a while, he made it through two of the four wings on the floor, and had still yet to find Quinn. However, spotting Judy Fabray walking quietly out of a room at the end of the hall, had him doubling back to hide around a corner until the echo of her shoes faded off into the night and he was sure that she was gone. Needless to say, that woman still hated his guts. Quinn was peacefully asleep, sprawled out across the entire hospital bed and draped in three comforters when he first stepped into her room at the end of the last corridor. She stayed that way for three more hours, Puck didn't once leave.

…

Brittany made sure to put her phone on silent, and not vibrate, before she crawled into bed, so she knew it wouldn't wake Santana up. But, that didn't mean that every time she got a call or a text, that it wouldn't light up to life, illuminating half of the small guest room from its tiny screen. When it happened the first time, she absolutely had no problem ignoring it, but after the seventh, and eighth, message she received, she was really considered climbing over her sleeping friend, just to see what was going on. But, Santana was curled so tightly against her side that she figured it'd be impossibly to do without waking her up anyway, and just decided to try and get some sleep. She was really tired.

She wasn't sure how long she'd actually been asleep, or if she'd even completely fallen asleep at all, because it only felt like seconds after closing her eyes when she felt Santana suddenly jerk and jumped away from her, gasping loudly for breath. Turning over slightly, to get a better look, her hands instinctively reached out for Santana, she frowned when Santana violently pulled away.

"Don't-wha-wh- oh," the sleep cleared from her eyes and she visibly relaxed at recognizing Brittany's, albeit worried, face, leaning back against her pillow, smiling slightly, "it's you."

"Of course it's me, silly," Brittany grinned in response, settling down comfortably, "who else would it be?" she watched as Santana's face fell, and immediately tried to figure out what she had said wrong, coming up short of an answer.

Santana was quiet for a really long time, staring up at the dark ceiling, with Brittany just watching her, playing with the hem of her old tee-shirt. When she finally opened her mouth again, Brittany thought she was going to explain and waited expectantly. But, changing her mind, Santana decided to let out an exaggerated sigh, stretching her arms over her head before turning to look at Brittany with that semi-annoyed look she always worse to school, "what time is it?"

"I dunno," Brittany replied honestly with a slightly awkward, laying down, shrug from her shoulders, "my phone's over there, and I can't reach it," she gestured vaguely behind Santana, in the direction of the dresser pushed up against the wall.

Santana rolled back over again and looked around for a minute, finally spotting the little hink of plastic sitting, in what appeared to be, well within her reach at the other end of the dresser. She practically fell face first off the bed while trying to grab it without getting up. She glared at Brittany's stifled giggle. Rolling her eyes, but not saying anything, Santana flipped open the phone with practice ease, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "What the hell?" she muttered to herself.

Brittany scooted lower to place her head on Santana's shoulder, leaning in to see what was making her make such a funny face, "what's wrong?" she pressed.

"Puck's called you, like, twelve times," Brittany then realized she must have actually dozed off for a while then, her count had only been nine. "What the fuck's his issue, doesn't he know it's like five in the fucking morning? Does he always call you this early?

"Puck doesn't usually call me," Brittany explained through a yawn, "he's probably just worried," she offered thoughtfully. Santana didn't reply to that at first. She just set the phone down on the dresser again and rolled back over, curling back into Brittany's side, burying her face against her warm body, and lacing their fingers together.

"Well, he needs to man the hell up," she mumbled against Brittany's skin, "we're fine."

Brittany didn't have to say she didn't believe her, she knew.

…

Quinn had been awake for all of fifteen minutes, had been checked on by the doctors, hobbled to the bathroom, and was already yelling at him. As much yelling a she could do anyway, she sounded like a chain smoker.

"You guys really thought that?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, her paper gown crinkling loudly. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance.

"Well, yeah," he shrugged, trying to placate her, the doctor specifically told him that is he got her worked up he'd be kicked out and not allowed back until she was released. "You were gone for two weeks," he explained, "and the police said there was no sign of foul play. Plus, nobody would really blame you for wanting to get away for a little bit."

"But you," her voice cracked and she frowned, "you didn't think it was a bit strange I didn't say anything to _anyone _before supposedly running away?"

Puck shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, desperately wishing she'd fall back asleep soon, he'd seen that she was fine, he could go home happy now. "I thought Mercedes was lying about not knowing where you were," he admitted after another minute of her glaring at him, "she was acting weird, all," he wiggled his fingers, "evasive."

"She was probably _worried_," Quinn snapped, "unlike you, apparently."

"Hey, I was worried!" he replied angrily, it wasn't his fucking fault, after all, "the whole club was a mess for days, nobody knew what to do, where you went, even Berry shut her trap for a while." She looked genuinely surprised at this news, "but then, you know…" he shrugged his shoulders, looking away, ashamed, "no one figured you'd actually be kidnapped."

Quinn didn't respond at first, and just glared at him for a while, with his dejected puppy dog face. "Well," she huffed, "I'm happy to know _someone _called the police."

"That was your mom," he explained automatically.

"Oh, god," her face paled and she slapped a bandaged hand to her forehead, "but she was gone-" she tried to argue, Puck quickly adverting his eyes again gave it away and she couldn't control the rage bubbling inside of her, grabbing the closest thing to her throwing it at him, "no one was looking for me for a whole _week_?"

Puck jumped from his chair beside her bed, suddenly covered in whatever liquid was in her cup, it smelled sickeningly sweet, like juice, "We didn't know!"

Tears running down her face, she yelled for him to get out until her voice went sore and she dissolved into silent sobs. Puck stayed with her until Judy returned.


	15. Chapter 15

**_A/N: _**_"Lmfao, who posts an update at freaken 8:30am local time?" _Apparently_ not me! Lol, I had that, and a whole big, obnoxious, sleep-deprived spiel, written here before I even started this stupid chapter… I thought for sure I was going to be done before I had to leave for classes, but I wasn't- so I am posting now, in between classes, instead! So, a few hours later than I thought, and a lot more hours later than I'd like, here we have our next chapter (again, I will try harder next time to not be so slow)…_

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Fifteen: **

Quinn was ecstatic as she was physically capable of being when the doctors told her that she'd be able to go home the next morning. Her first reaction to the news was to jump out of bed, do a cartwheel, and cheer at the top of her lungs, but she was pretty sure that was still a little out of the question at the moment. Instead, she sat, prim and proper, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Poised, and with all the dignity allotted to a princess, she remained perched in her spot on her little hospital bed, in her little paper gown, sporting the widest, most ridiculous looking grin on her face ever, listening intently as the doctors explained the discharge procedure to her mom.

As soon as her mom left to go get some paperwork from the nurse's station, she pulled out her shiny new phone and texted Mercedes and Kurt the good news, telling them that they could meet her at her house the next afternoon, but to not worry about making it over to the hospital again that night, like they had been planning. They'd both been ecstatic at her news, and promised to see her the next day.

So, not expecting anybody else to drop by, Quinn was a little surprised when there was a quiet knock on her door just twenty minutes before visitor's hours ended for the night. Knowing her mother would have just waltzed right in, and that her father probably would have stood awkwardly around in the hallway until a nurse specifically told him to go in, she hesitantly called for whoever it was to enter.

Brittany bounced through the door a second later, grinning from ear to ear, and with both of her hands kept firmly behind her back as she made her way over to the bed. "Hey, Quinn," she greeted loudly, hovering just over her shoulder.

Quinn gaped up at her fellow Cheerio, not sure what she was doing there, "Brittany-"

"Yup!" Brittany nodded.

Quinn couldn't help but smile, "not that I'm not glad to see you, Brittany," Quinn responded evenly, "but why are you here?"

"I came to bring you this!" Brittany declared brightly, suddenly producing a tiny stuffed teddy bear holding a little heart from behind her back, practically shoving it in Quinn's face in excitement. "We got him at the gift shop for you, isn't he cute?" she asked.

"We?" Quinn questioned automatically, glancing towards the door for, who she referred to as, Brittany's evil half. Brittany started to nod again, but stopped short, her smile fading quickly, replaced instead by a crinkle of her nose and an incredibly guilty looking grimace.

After staring dejectedly a the tops of the white rubber toes of her sneakers for a minute, Brittany shot a nervous look over her shoulder at the door, which was still slightly ajar. After making sure it was all clear, she turned back, tilting her chin in, eyes darting dramatically around the room suspiciously before she slowly leaned in close to Quinn. "Santana's waiting outside," she explained loudly, while Quinn was sure she meant to whisper, especially when she added, equally as loudly, "it was her idea to get you the bear. I'm not supposed to tell, so don't let her know you know."

Shaking her head slightly and mumbling to herself under her breath, Quinn grinned and accepted the bear, tugging on its little bow tie affectionately. "Thank you, he's really sweet, I love him." Brittany beamed.

"It was Santana's idea, but she let me pick him out," she flashed another proud grin as she reached forward and took the bear back. She turned it so he could face Quinn, while she pointed at the red heart sewn between its paws, "see? And it even says 'get well soon' on it. Emily wanted to get you the pink bear, instead of the brown, but that one said 'congratulations' and I didn't think that you wanted to be congratulated," Brittany stumbled over the word, her face flushing red, "on being kidnapped."

Quinn rolled her eyes at the bluntness of Brittany's statement, snatching the bear back from her hand. "You did a very good job," she amended quickly. Brittany nodded but fell silent, staring blankly around the hospital room. "You know," Quinn started slowly, waiting until Brittany's attention was drawn back to her, "you can tell Santana that it's ok to come in."

Brittany shook her head, frantically gesturing for Quinn to keep her voice down. "Santana isn't really," she took a deep breath, glancing back towards the door again, hesitating, "she's not talking to people right now. That's why she's standing outside." Quinn raised a surprised eyebrow. "I know! Weird, right?" Brittany slapped her thighs, leaning forward, eyes open wide, "she'll talk to me still, but only sometimes. Her parents are even back from California yesterday, but…" she trailed off.

"Well," Brittany looked over hopefully, Quinn gave her sad smile, "we've all just been through a lot lately, it's ok to be upset."

"Santana isn't upset, she's not yelling or crying, or anything, she's just not talking," Brittany shrugged, "and everything is ok now, isn't it? You're back, and Mr. Sanders is gone."

Quinn sighed, "How's your dad?"

It wasn't the most tactful way to change the subject, sure, but it was more than enough to distract Brittany. "Oh," Quinn watched as she perked up a little bit, smiling brightly again, "he's still downstairs, but he's going to be ok now. Mom's gonna stay here tonight, and I'm going home with Santana again because our house is still messy, and Mrs. Monroe's guest room smells kind of funny."

"Where has Emily been staying?" Quinn inquired, "certainly not in the hospital."

"No," Brittany agreed, "she's been staying with our Aunt, but she's coming with me to San's tonight. She wanted to get dropped off here, to see you, but Mom said no."

Quinn thought about it for a minute before nodding her head, "Yeah, hospitals aren't really a place for kids, Britt."

"But she was really upset, she wanted to see you," Brittany argued.

"You know," Quinn added cautiously, "I'd really like to see her too. You guys can bring her to come see me when I go home tomorrow, if you want. Mercedes and Kurt are coming over after lunch, maybe you can too?"

"Oh, yeah!" Brittany jumped, rummaging through her pockets until she pulled out her shiny pink phone, showing it to Quinn, "I got their text- they invited all of Glee Club for a party for you!"

Quinn laughed, "I think that might have been a surprise, B."

Brittany furrowed her brow as she quickly re-read the text, "they didn't say I couldn't tell you."

"Well, don't worry about it then," Quinn assured, still smiling, "are you going to come?"

Brittany shrugged with a sigh, "Maybe. I'll have to ask my mom. When are you coming back to school? It's not as much fun without you there. Plus, Coach was really mean."

Quinn groaned just thinking about school, "as soon as I can,' she replied quickly, "I must be so far behind. But the doctors say I should wait at least a week. I won't be doing Cheerios for a while, either. And I _don't _look forward to telling Coach Sylvester that."

"We can tell her for you," Brittany automatically offered, "we're going back on Monday. Santana wanted to go tomorrow, but her dad wouldn't let her. I'm just happy because I haven't done my Spanish Project yet."

Quinn immediately shook her head, no matter how much she was dreading telling Coach she was on doctor's leave for the next three weeks, she wasn't going to condemn her friends to that fate, "No, it's ok, just forget about it," she insisted, sure that Brittany would, "and I don't think Mr. Shue is going to be too worried about your project, Britt, don't worry."

"Really?" she grinned excitedly, Quinn nodded, "awesome."

At half passed three the next day, most of the Glee Club was gathered in full force, sporting cookies, cake, and a bouquet of brightly colored balloons. They gathered, chattering loudly, around Quinn's kitchen table, while hap-hazardously munching away on the cookies Finn's mom sent with Rachel. She hadn't been able to trust that her son wouldn't eat them during transit. "They're not as good as those cupcakes Puck made that one time," Finn admitted after shoving a fourth double chocolate chip cookie in his mouth, "but they're still pretty good."

Puck caught Mike giving him a knowing look and sputtered to come up with a witty retort on the spot, falling drastically short. In a drunken stupor over the summer one night, he admitted to slipping a certain special ingredient into his cupcake recipe at the bake sale the year before, much to the admiration of the other football players, except Finn, apparently, who must've forgot. Mike just laughed.

The doorbell rang and Quinn silently excused herself to the living room, basking in the momentary stillness of the empty room before hurrying across the foyer to open the door after the bell was rung two more times in quick succession. The bell was being held down, for a fourth time, when she finally opened the door. "Quinny!" a bundle of curly blonde hair launced itself into Quinn's arms, and had shimmied itself halfway up her body before Quinn had half the sense to heave the eight year old up onto her hip.

"Emily," she greeted brightly as the little girl planted a sloppy kiss on the side of her face, "look at how big you've gotten!" she let out an exaggerated huff, leaning against the doorframe for support, pretending to be crushed. Emily squealed with laughter.

"Yup!" Emily proclaimed proudly, puffing out her little chest, "Mom says I'm gonna be taller than she is soon!" Maggie was notoriously short in the blonde Dutch family, but still a good two feet taller than her youngest daughter.

Brittany laughed and brushed by Quinn in the doorway, ruffling Emily's hair as she passed. "Sorry we're late," she apologized after Quinn shut the door and turned to her expectantly.

A loud laugh boomed from the kitchen, and Emily gasped in excitement, wriggling to get down from Quinn's grasp, jumping before her feet were even on the ground, and scrambling through the living room, towards all of the commotion in the kitchen, while calling for Puck as she went. Quinn rolled her eyes at the disappearing blonde. "It's ok," she assured with a forced smile, "where's Santana?" through the glass on her front door, she saw a familiar black car pulling quickly out of the driveway.

Brittany shrugged her shoulders, looping her arm through Quinn's, and leading her back towards the others, "she didn't want to come."

Quinn accepted the answer, mostly because there wasn't much else she could say, and also because it took Brittany only a matter of seconds to drag her back into the noisy kitchen. They found Emily perched proudly on the back of Artie's Wheelchair, with Kurt's hat on her head, and flashing the whole room a very Brittany-like smile as she declared herself queen, and them all her loyal followers.

By the time all of the others left, and her mother had returned from Quinn-didn't-have-a-clue-where, her headache that had been building up all day had turned into a sharp, stabbing pain behind each of her temples that throbbed every time she so much as moved her head or even blinked. Deciding bed was her best option, she dragged her sorry self up the stair case, collapsing on top of her comforter with all of her lights still on. A minute passed, then ten. Before she knew it an hour had gone by and she felt no closer to sleeping than she did at being able to sit up. Three more hours ticked away before she was finally able to fall sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

After she dropped her off at Quinn's house on Friday, Brittany didn't see, or even hear from, Santana until Monday morning at school. Truthfully, she didn't realize the big gaping hole in the middle of her usual weekend schedule until late Saturday night. She, and the rest of her family, had all been pretty busy during the day getting her father settled and the house cleaned, but it wasn't long after bedtime that her mom questioned Santana's absence. After all, it wasn't often more than 24 hours would go pass without a bit of brown hair being spotted running amongst all the blonde in their house.

Maggie dropped Brittany off by the front door to the school on her way to work, leaving her with a quick peck on the forehead and a bagged lunch before driving off. Brittany waved and stood around for a few moments in the drizzling rain before deciding it would probably be better to go inside. Venturing cautiously into the nearly vacant building, she looked down each hallway cautiously as she wandered around, it wasn't often the school was so empty. Cheerios had practice early every morning, except for Mondays, so it was really rather odd, being there early, and alone. But, with most of the hallways completely empty, she was actually able to find her way to her locker without getting distracted and lost for once.

After fifteen minutes, Brittany was sitting with her back against the wall, waiting for Santana to arrive. Another ten minutes passed and most of the student body had arrived and the five minute bell had blared above all the early morning chatter, sending kids scattering in all different directions as they rushed for class. Brittany decided to keep waiting, and wasn't disappointed when she spotted Santana a few second later, effortlessly parting the crowded hallway before her as she quickly made her way towards her locker. Scrambling off the floor, Brittany greeted her with a big smile. She was hardly surprised when she didn't get one in return. Even on a good day, Santana was _never _very friendly in the morning… or ever, really, but even less so in the morning.

"Hey, Britt," Santana mumbled through a stifled yawn as she began to mindlessly fiddle with her combination. Brittany titled her head to the side, looking over her best friend carefully. Santana's hair was pulled back perfectly as always, and her uniform was clean and pressed, albeit wet from the rain, but something was off.

"You look really tired," Brittany decided firmly with a sure nod of her head.

Santana turned and gave her the best half-hearted glare she could manage so early in the morning, "thanks for saying I look like shit, B."

"I didn't mean it like that," Brittany apologized in a small voice.

Santana sighed, "I know, Britt, I'm sorry."

"So," Brittany glanced around at the, again, deserted hallways, and then back to her friend, "why are you so late?"

"I over slept, ok?" Santana slammed her hand against the locker, swearing none too quietly when she screwed up the combination for the third time, scaring a few underclassmen and sending them hurrying from their own lockers. "What the fuck is wrong with this thing?" she demanded.

Brittany was quiet for a minute, still watching her closely, "we're going to be late for history."

"Since when did you care?" Santana glanced over.

Brittany just shrugged in reply, watching as Santana gave her an annoyed roll of her eyes and a small shake of her head before going back to fighting with her lock. When Santana finally managed to pull the door open, she allowed a triumphant scowl to flash across her otherwise indifferent face. "My mom was asking about you this weekend," Brittany added suddenly, Santana turned and gave her a startled look, "she wanted to know where you were, and if you were ok," she explained.

"I _can _spend time at my own house without it being weird, ok?" Santana snapped, slamming the locker shut again without grabbing any of her books, "and I'm fine." She turned and stalked away without another word, unknowingly leaving two very bewildered blondes behind.

Deciding that she would rather not sit through history, probably getting scolded at for falling asleep in class, like she was bound to do, and having to deal with Brittany making hurt faces at her the whole time, Santana choose to wander around the school for a bit instead. Eventually she found herself in the deserted auditorium, and spent the remainder of the period lounging in the back row with her sneakers propped up on the seat in front of her and her hands folded behind her head as she stared up at the dimly lit ceiling, eyelids drooping every so often. The bell signaling the end of first period woke her up from her nap and sent her wandering towards the other end of the school.

Before second period even started, she pushed a pair of freshmen down a flight of stairs after they decided to talk back to her after she told them to get out of her way. Lucky for them, a huddled group of AV-nerds broke their fall and nobody was seriously injured. She'd made it to third period and was sitting in Spanish before she was called out on the incident and summoned to Principal Figgin's office over the PA system. She chose to ignore the announcement and dared Mr. Schue to say anything. He gave her a warning look, but relented when he realized she probably wasn't going to give, even if he got up and dragged her there, kick and screaming, himself.

Mercedes, sitting in the row in front of Santana's, shifted slightly in her seat so she could try to get a better look at her, slightly disgruntled, fellow glee-clubber in the middle of the exchange, watching the looks being thrown back and forth. Apparently, though, she hadn't managed it smooth enough, because, as soon as Mr. Schue gave up and looked away, Santana's head snapped in her direction, catching her blatantly staring. "What are _you _looking at, Weebles?" Santana demanded sharply.

With a sigh, Mercedes rolled her eyes and more fully turned around to face Santana, much to the other girl's annoyance. Mr. Schuester ignored the pair and returned to the lesson at the front of the board, no one else was paying attention anyway. "What did you do _now_?"

"None of your damn business," Santana immediately shot replied, looking back down at her paper. She scowled when she looked up again and found Mercedes still watching her, "why are you even talking to me?" she demanded, "did I give you permission?"

To say that she and Santana had formed any type of friendship through their shared time together outside of class due to their common club-association would be a gross exaggeration of their relationship. However, Santana wasn't usually _this _hostile to her, not ever since the whole Puck thing blew over. "Seriously," she asked, keeping her voice low, and glancing around to make sure no one was actually listening to their conversation, "what's wrong with you?"

Caught off guard by the genuine question, Santana's mind went blank and she had to resort to saying the first thing she could think of, which happened to be very juvenile. "What's wrong with your face?" she scowled at her own bad joke. It was the worse comeback she'd had since elementary school. Mercedes knew it too, apparently, because she was actually laughing. Santana's face blazed red.

"Really, Santana?" she mocked, "talk about seventh grade." Santana glowered, but decided it would be simpler to not reply, any damage to her reputation by being bested in wit by the diva be damned. Keeping her eyes glued to her open text book, which was on the wrong page, she waited impatiently for Mercedes to lose interest in her and turn her attention back to the lesson.

She didn't even make it halfway through class before she was practically bouncing in her seat, ready to go. With a half hour left, she packed up her notebooks and stared at the clock until the minutes slowly ticked by and the big hand inched closer to twelve. When the hell finally rung, she grabbed her things and made a beeline for the door before most of the class was even out of their chairs. She thought she might have actually escaped, but Mr. Schue caught her by the arm just outside the door. She went rigid at the contact and his hand immediately fell away, but she didn't turn around to look at him.

"Santana, I was wondering if I could have a word with you?" a few kids walking by snickered and she made like she was about to hit them, sending them jumping and running away.

Once they were out of sight, she turned and silently marched back inside, brushing passed Mr. Schue in the doorway without looking up. Crossing her arms, she leaned back against the edge of his desk and waited expectantly as he talked to a girl she didn't' even know was in the class on her way out the door. She smiled flirtatiously and waved goodbye as she skipped down the hallway. Mr. Schue turned to Santana. "She totally wants to do you," she told him suddenly, still watching where the girl had, _literally_, skipped off to.

He smirked and nodded his head before gesturing towards the student desks, "why don't you have a seat?"

She tilted her head towards the door, "I'm supposed to meet Brittany for lunch. And I'm actually hungry, so I might eat real food for lunch for once."

She tried to make it sound like a joke, even if she was seriously, but Mr. Schuester didn't seem to find it very funny. He actually looked rather horrified. "I was actually wondering if you'd like to stay here for the rest of the day," he suggested, she raised an eyebrow. He struggled to explain, "it just seems like you're having a rough day."

"Do you offer all of your student who are having a bad day a get out of class free card?" she asked dryly, he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged awkwardly.

He sighed, "are you sure you've given enough time to coming back to school?"

"I was home all weekend," she replied, glancing down at her phone to check the time, "it was suffocating."

He frowned, unconvinced, "you can go talk to Emma, if you don't want to talk to me. I can set up an appointment for you."

"I don't need to talk to anybody," she scoffed, "I'm just having an off day, I'm fine."

"You skipped your first period," he began, holding up one finger, "you slushied three students, one of whom was Rachel," she hadn't thought anyone was going to find out about _that _particular part of her morning, but still didn't feel the least bit bad about it and shrugged, Rachel probably blabbed, "_and _you got into a fight, and didn't go down to see Figgins," he continued evenly, holding up four fingers total.

"It wasn't a fight," was her only response, which was completely true, the two freshmen hadn't fought back. After a second of silence, she took that to mean the conversation was done and stood up, heading towards the door before he could stop her, "and you're going to make me miss lunch," she called over her shoulder, disappearing into the hallway. Deciding that she wasn't very hungry after all, she headed in the opposite direction of the cafeteria.

By the time Cheerio's practice finally rolled around, she was so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open, and she really wanted nothing more than to be at home, in her nice warm bed, sleeping. Or, rather, trying to sleep. She hadn't been able to sleep more than two hours at a time since Thursday night. So, for the first time in her life, she actually considered risking the wrath of Sue Sylvester and skipping. In the end she decided against it, but only because Sue was _really_ scary. Walking into the gym, she realized she only had seconds to spare before they were supposed to begin and rushed to get ready with the others.

Even with her favorite Cheerio re-located, and their place at nationals pretty much guaranteed again, practice by Sue Sylvester was still a living hell on Earth, and she did her best to run her girls into the very ground they sweated on. There was no room for weakness on the Cheerios, and anyone who couldn't keep up was cut. Normally, Santana didn't mind this cut-throat approach, it was a good way to blow off steam, and it kept her looking good, but she just wasn't feeling it, and kept stumbling over her own feet.

After ten minutes straight of running suicides along the length of the gym, she thought she was going to die. Simple as that, she was going to drop dead. Her legs were numb, her knees ached, and her lungs were on fire. She was going to keel over and die without a sound, right in the middle of the gym, and Sue was going to make everyone keep running until her stinking body corpsefied.

Just when she thought she wasn't going to be able to take it any longer, Sue called break and gave them thirty seconds, exactly, to recuperate and get some water before having them run through their routines until it was perfect. They performed their newest routine three times almost flawlessly, once without the music, and twice with, of course, according to Sue, they were still soppy, but at least she didn't make any disturbingly detailed analogies about them.

The fourth time through, her foot twisted the wrong way during the second single handed back handspring of her triple, and she was thrown dangerously off balance. Failing to catch herself upright, she fell backwards and landed hard on her ass, sliding across the slick gym floor and knocking into a small three girl mount, sending them crashing down around her. The entire team stopped and gaped, their mouths hanging open. Santana didn't move as the other girls scrambled to get off of her, the gym ceiling was spinning too rapidly over her head, and the pulsating of her own heart in her ears was so loud that she couldn't even hear the worried cries of her teammates as they rushed from their assigned spots, against orders, to check on her.

As the ceiling finally stopped spinning, Brittany appeared standing over her at the same time she heard Sue bellow her name through the megaphone for the third time. Groaning, Santana allowed herself to be pulled to her feet and waited to for the verbal abuse that always followed making a mistake. And Santana had never made a mistake that caught four girls to end up on the floor before. After a few seconds, she realized the entire gym was still silent, and looked cautiously up towards Coach Sylvester. Sue gestured for her to approach. Slowly, Santana limped away from Brittany and towards, what she was sure was, certain death with her head held low.

Santana could feel Coach Sylvester's gaze burning into the top of her head and had to remind herself to breath so she could at least maintain some self respect while getting yelled at. She could only imagine what would happen if she were to pass out in the middle of her punishment. She winced at the mere thought. However, Punishment never came, Sue just shook her head and stepped to the side, muttering a simple order, "go sit down."

To say the least, Santana was flabbergasted, if that was even really an actual word, "What?"

"It has come to my abrupt attention that, possibly due to recent events, your competence as an effective member of this team has been compromised. I propose that you go and sit this one out on the bench. And I _highly _suggest that you do not attempt to come back until you are sure you know where your feet are and can execute the routines again, without risking fatal injury to my other Cheerios. Is that understood?" apparently, from the look on her face, Coach could see that she didn't. "I'm giving you a free pass, Lopez," she explained evenly so that none of the others could hear her, "now, get out of my sight."

Santana didn't need to be told another time and hurried out of the gym with a hesitant 'thank you' that she wasn't even sure Coach Sylvester could hear. She felt Brittany watching her the entire way out the door, and felt a little guilty about leaving her behind, but decided that she just too tired to wait around for practice to get out, and promised herself that she'd make it up to the girl the next day.

As soon as she closed her door, she dragged her feet to her bed and fell face first onto the mattress. Crawling forward, she pulled her legs up, sneakers and all, and curled up under her covers, burying her face in a pillow. Hoping, in her completely physically exhausted state, that she might actually be able to sleep without horrible nightmares, she closed her eyes and was passed out in seconds. However, she soon found that she was not nearly as lucky as she had hoped.

**_

* * *

_**

**_A/N: _**_So, who wants to see creeper Mr. Sanders again? Well, if you said yes, you're going to be happy! He is Ch. 17's psycho guest star! Actually, we were supposed to get back to him this chapter, in like a second half, but then the first half got longer and longer, and became the whole chapter, so… good news is, now you get an extra chapter! Yaaaay~ see ya next time_


	17. Chapter 17

**_A/N: _**_Well… at least I stopped lying about getting these chapters up any faster, right? It's been an extremely long time, I know… I've seriously been lacking motivation to do much of anything lately. Personally, I blame school- it just sucks the fun right out of everything. But I did finally get this chapter done (insert: applause)! And I will try to get the next bit out sooner, but I still make no promises, I don't like being a liar. Especially since I'm lying to myself, as well as you, every time I say it'll get up sooner. Anyways- thanks for sticking with me through these ridiculously long delays, I hope you're still enjoying it~ _

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Seventeen**

The house was dark. So very, very, scary, terrifyingly dark. And she'd just gotten Brittany to stop sleeping with a nightlight on, too. They were totally going to have to go back to step one if this whole mess blew over. _When _it blew over. Santana shivered and tried again to look around the dark room- hell, she was probably even going to end up sleeping with a night light on again, and she hadn't done that shit since she was like five. Reaching blindly for Brittany's hand, she pulled her best friend closer once she found it, their thighs touching. Brittany tilted her head down and rested it on Santana's shoulder, silently squeezing her hand back. Santana released the breath she'd been holding and relaxed slightly, a smile tugging at her lips, despite their situation.

Mr. Sanders paced back and forth in front of them, the soles of his shoes crunching loudly on the broken glass pieces from the shattered coffee table tipped over in the center of the room. She couldn't see his face, well, she couldn't see anything, really, just his dark shadow moving back and forth in front of the window, and the faint outline of the gun still clutched in his hand. He'd smashed all the lights downstairs, and sometime during his rage he'd knocked the television down behind the stand so that it was facing the wall, the screen now flickering on and off at irregular intervals. The only light in the entire room came through the thick curtains from the police spotlights outside. Santana squeezed Brittany's hand once last time and stood up. She was sick of waiting, sick of praying for only god knew what to come and save them, she'd been quiet for too long.

When he had first attacked Mr. Rich and sent the taller man sprawling to the ground without so much as a sound, she had screamed, and hadn't been able to do much else. "Psychopath!" she'd shriked, her voice cracking as she watched him fall, too stunned to move. Brittany, however, was able to keep perfect control of her feet and darted forward, dropping to her knees to cover her father from any further harm. Shaking his shoulders, she called out to him as tears streamed down either side of her face.

Mr. Sanders shook his head disgustedly at the blonde pair by his feet and turned away, to face Santana. Looking straight at her, he pointed towards the couch, ordering for her to "sit."

She couldn't tare her eyes away from the blood dripping down Mr. Rich's face, her legs felt numb. She heard herself speak before she even knew what she was going to say, she turned to glare at him, "what are you? Brain damaged?" she demanded. Mr. Sanders smirked and looked back down at Brittany contemplatively. Santana hurried to plant herself in between him and Brittany, forcing him back with a firm shove.

As he took a surprised step back, red hot rage flared across his features and she wondered if she had just made another grave mistake and recoiled slightly. He raised a hand and she winced, bracing herself for the repercussion to her actions, but the hit never came. He took another half step backwards, fist waving towards the couch again. "Now," he ordered, practically growling.

His reluctance to hit her only egged her on further, and she raised a single eyebrow in challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're going to go down for more than just kidnapping, it's murder if you don't get him help. There could be brain damage, not to mention he could bleed out," she warned sternly, looking again to Mr. Rich. Mr. Sanders didn't respond, instead choosing to turn to the window, peeking out through the curtains. "Didn't you hear me?" she demanded, "he could die!" his head whipped back.

"Like my wife did?" he snapped. It was posed as a question, she knew, and he looked like he was expecting an answer, but she didn't have the guts to respond, and it came out more as an accusation anyways. Blood turning to ice in her veins, she couldn't stop her eyes from automatically darting in the direction he had gestured, her gaze unwillingly falling momentarily on where Lisa's still body remained collapsed at the bottom of the steps, surrounded in a pool of dark, sticky, blood. She could still feel that same blood drying across the back of her sweatshirt. Forcing herself to look decidedly in the opposite direction of the staircase, she kept her lips closed and jaw clenched. Brittany's quiet sobs caused her to break her silence and verbally lashed out again.

"I said shut up," his command cut through her rampage. He didn't yell, they were just four evenly spoken words that sent chills down her spine and caused her mouth to immediately snap shut. Mr. Sanders stepped forward and she stumbled back, stopping only when the muzzle of a nice, shiny, metal gun was pressed to the middle of her forehead. "Sit," he commanded, and her legs crumpled beneath her as she fell to the floor beside Brittany wordlessly.

He looked around the room thoughtfully before bringing his lazy gaze back to the girl sitting at the opposite end of his gun, smashing her a small smile. "You're going to sit there and be a good little girl now, or-" he held up one finger when she opened her mouth again to protest, "_or _I'm going to blow your pretty little friend's head off." He didn't so much as blink, or even look away from Santana's eyes, as he transferred the gun from her forehead to the back of Brittany's, causing her to go rigid. Santana's mouth hung open uselessly as he silently dared her to try anything. Forcing the lump in her throat down, she mutely nodded. He grinned again. That smile was going to haunt her forever.

"Very good," he patronized when she didn't move after he lowered the gun and stepped back. "If you keep that up, we might just all be ok," she nodded slowly. "Now," he looked down at the large unconscious man behind the two girls, she followed his gaze unsurely. "I need you to go find me some rope or duct tape," she didn't move, "it wasn't a question!"

Jumping to her feet, she immediately rushed to the kitchen, throwing open the first drawer she could reach and blindly digging through it in search of tape. She came up empty and slammed it shut, moving to the next. When she pulled open the knife drawer, she stopped short, her hands hovering over the open compartment. "No funny business!" he called, drawing her attention away.

"I-" her gaze fell back towards the knife drawer, mesmerized by the way the light was caught on the metal blades. "I don't know where any is," she admitted, keeping her eyes downcast as she slowly lowered her hand.

There was movement in the other room, causing her to look up as she quietly slid the drawer shut again. Fear immediately consumed her as Mr. Sanders grabbed Brittany by the collar of her shirt and dragged her up off the ground. A resounding "No!" ripped raw from Santana's throat as she scrambled back into the living room, hand outstretched. He caught her wrist and she winced, the metal of the not-so-cleverly-hidden knife in her sleeve pressing into her skin. IT didn't cut her, it didn't even hurt, but she knew he felt it. The close-fisted smack she received to the side of her face in reward for it made her head spin.

"Santana!" she tripped over her own feet as she fell backwards, still seeing stars as she fell right into the open arms of Brittany. Rapidly blinking to clear her vision, she struggled to remain upright.

Mr. Sanders glared at the both of them and Santana felt Brittany's hold around her middle tighten as he took a threatening step forward, but they had nowhere to go backwards. "Do you think this is a _joke_?" he demanded loudly, throwing his hands up in the air, taking special care to wave the gun around in front of their faces. Santana opened her mouth, but no sound came out, he turned and lifted the coffee table up and over on its side in one fluid movement, sending bits of glass flying in all directions, she felt Brittany jump behind her.

"I was seventeen years old the first time I killed somebody," he informed them suddenly, fixing Santana with a steady glare and not bothering to look over her head at Brittany, who'd yet to loosen her grip. "That was over ten years ago. She was seven years old, with curly blonde hair, and these perfect little dimples on her cheeks," he looked wistful for a brief moment, a tiny smile and a faraway look flashing across his face before his eyes hardened again and he turned back to the girls, "she cried for her mommy until she didn't have any breath left in her to call out with. I strangled her with my bare hands," he held up his hands for them to see, "_these _hands, no gun, nothing. It was so simple. She just faded away, right in my arms," his voice drifted off again.

He grabbed a handful of Santana's ponytail and yanked her away from Brittany, ignoring her surprised cry, "if I could do _that_, what makes you think, for a second, that I would even _hesitate _killing you and your girlfriend here?" he asked in a low whisper, right next to her ear. Somehow it was more terrifying than when he was shouting. He raised his voice again, "I have a_ gun_, you, apparently, have half a brain, and a little steak knife," he kicked at the fallen knife with detest, "what did you think you could do? Who do you _think _is in control here?" he shoved her to the ground.

"You," he jabbed a finger in Brittany's face, stopping her short from reaching out for her friend again, "go and find some tape." He didn't leave any room for questioning.

When Brittany returned with a roll of duct tape in her hands, he snatched it away, tossing it to where Santana was still sitting on the ground. "Tape his hands," he gestured in the vague direction of Mr. Rich. Santana's eyes went wide.

"What?" was the only thing her mind could manage. She looked from the tape in her hands and then back to Mr. Rich a good three times before Mr. Sanders got sick of her stalling.

"Do we have to repeat out little lesson on who's in charge?" he shouted, raising the gun in Brittany's direction.

Santana shook her head, climbing to her feet with both of her hands held out in front of her, the roll of tape around her one wrist. "No! Ok?" she asked, he lowered the gun and waited, "I'll do it."

"Get to work," he snapped. Afraid to turn away she took several carefully measured steps backwards until she was right in front of Mr. Rich. Lowering herself to her knees, she glanced once last time at Brittany before turning around and hurrying to rip a piece of tape, getting half of it stuck to her sleeve and cursing.

"But-" she turned to shoot a look at Brittany that immediately silenced her, but did nothing to quell her confusion. Hesitant footsteps approached, "San?" Brittany asked with a sniffle, watching Santana's actions closely. Santana cringed and refused to look up, carefully taking one of Mr. Rich's big hands in her own to bring it beside the other.

Struggling with the tape again, she absentmindedly wiped at the frustrated tears slipping down her cheeks. "Damn it," she mumbled.

"Santana?" Brittany whined again, her shoulders went rigid when she heard Mr. Sanders move on the far side of the room.

"Not now," she snapped, she heard Brittany squeak in surprise and had to bite back an apologetic sob. She felt sick as she forced out the next few words, using the very best bitch voice she could manage, "j-just sit down and shut up, alright?"

Mr. Sanders approached from the other side of Mr. Rich after Brittany sat down, she could see his shoes without looking up. "Good enough?" she asked sarcastically. He didn't respond, so she chanced a glance upward, he was smiling at her. Again. She didn't see what was so funny.

"You're sixteen, right?" he asked, squatting down so they were at the same level, she didn't answer and eyed the gun swaying loosely by his knee instead. "We're not so different," he informed her quietly, her eyes snapped back up to his and she growled.

"Fuck you." he actually laughed.

"Don't deny it," he insisted, "it's true. Do you want to know why I did it?"

Her reply was immediate, "no."

But he wasn't listening. "I was with my baby sister at the park. She was only seven, I was fifteen. These three men," he scoffed, "these three _boys _approached us and talked to me for a little bit. One asked for a light, and I reached into my pocket to get one, when one of them hit me out of nowhere. He pinned me down and made me watch as they did awful things to her. They killed her, and I could do nothing to help. Then when I saw _her_, the other girl, at the same park a year later, I just got so angry. They were the same age." He popped up to his feet and grabbed the nearest thing- a freestanding lamp, and threw it as hard as he could against the wall. "Why did _she _deserve to live, when my baby sister didn't? Why was she so special?" he demanded, Santana looked back nervously, Brittany was huddled on the couch, crying again.

Mr. Sanders let out a harsh laugh, "but she _wasn't_, she _wasn't_ special. Because she didn't get to live either," he turned to her and thumped his chest proudly, "because _I _made sure of that."

"Do you have any idea what it feels like to have your whole world ripped from you? Right in front of you eyes? Do you know what that does to you? To your soul?" he asked, Santana remained silent, his eyes lit up, "I could show you."

She didn't even realize she was on her feet until she was slammed straight into his back with all her might as he approached the couch, sending them both crashing to the floor. He let out a startled yell as she blindly lashed out at his face, but quickly regained the upperhand, easily flipping their positions. Grabbing her again by the hair and heaving her off the ground, he pinned her to the lounge-chair part of the couch, holding her down by her shoulders and leaning over her. She thrashed in his grasp, kicking out and screaming. He laughed again, startling her shock still.

"There's that fight!" he cheered, "I had that fight too. But they held me down," he reminded her, his eyes slowly running up her body, she felt her heartbeat quicken, "just like this." She reeled back and placed one well aimed kick at his chin, sending his head snapping backwards with a string of curses. Clutching his bloody lip, he glared at her, but made no further attempt in fighting her as he meandered towards the kitchen. She didn't turn to watch him go, but she heard the tap turn on.

Once she got her breathing under control again she hastily brushed her hair back and straightened her clothes before taking a quick inventory of the room. Mr. Rich, breathing, as far s she could tell, coffee table, smashed, two lamps, broken, one kitchen chair flipped over, and Brittany staring blankly at the far wall from the opposite end of the couch. Scooting over as slow as possible, so not to draw any more attention, she'd soon traveled across all three couch cushions and was practically sitting on Brittany's lap. Brittany' still didn't look at her though, and she knew it was her fault.

"Britt?" she whispered, reaching over to grasp the closest hand. She squeezed it hopefully, but Brittany didn't squeeze back, she just shook her head, her brow furrowed and lips in a thin line as she continued to stubbornly stare forward. "I'm sorry," Santana sighs, leaning back against the cushion, Brittany's fingers twitch in her hand, and it's enough.

She'd been still and complacent since then, and a good half hour had passed. Both girls had sat and watched, saying nothing, as Mr. Sanders completely tore apart the living room, first he smashed a third lamp, the one sitting in the corner of the dining room. Then he turned his fury on the tv, after the news had flashed his picture across the screen. Pictures were ripped from the wall and papers thrown. He yelled and he cried, but neither girl had said a single word the entire time. And now Santana was up on her feet again.

He turned to her expectantly, waiting for her to speak with his arms crossed over his chest and an amused smile on his face. "Do you have something to share with the class, Miss Lopez?" he asked sweetly, she balled her hands into fists.

That was where the nightmare always veered from reality.

The lights from outside would shut off, and all the police would leave, they'd be trapped in that house forever. Sometimes the light would get brighter, and she'd hear her parents calling from outside, telling Mr. Sanders to let her go, pleading, threatening him. Mr. Sanders would then waltz right outside and kill them all.

Sometimes it would be Maggie who was calling in from the outside, shouting through the megaphone. She was always crying and begging for Mr. Sanders to let her draughts go. Sometimes she would blame Santana.

Twice it was Coach Sylvester who called inside. She didn't get killed, but she didn't get them out either. Santana knew it was so terrifying because Coach _always _got what she wanted, and in these cases in her mind, she didn't.

Her least favorite scenarios didn't involve anyone from outside at all, it was just the five of them inside the house. Mr. Rich would wake up screaming, blood pouring from his wounds, and he'd die, just like that, and Brittany would be crying, and Santana would be unable to do anything to help. Brittany would just push her away, and then she'd turn to back and stare up at her with those blue eyes and, clear as day, tell her it was her fault. She knew it was her fault. But everyone had to remind her.

More often than not, she fought with Mr. Sanders again, except this time, when he pinned her down, he taped her up too. Then he would take Brittany and show Santana exactly what those men had done to his sister all those years ago, over and over. Then he'd hand her the gun, and she'd shoot him.

The worst of them? That was when Emily came down the stairs. It was her worst nightmare, because that's exactly what actually happened.


	18. Chapter 18

**_A/N: _**_So- totally switching it up on you again! Bwa ha haa… Yeha, ok, and I'd like to start a countdown for you guys, but I don't know exactly how many chapters are left, so I just want to warn you that we're coming up to the end soon, ok? I'll let you know for sure when I know, but more than likely, I won't even know until I'm writing like the second to last chapter because I'm super horrible at planning, lol _****

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Eighteen**

When Quinn stepped through the school doors on Wednesday morning sporting her Cheerios uniform, she got a bigger reaction than if Coach Sylvester herself did a handstand while wearing a pink tutu and then waltzed up to Mr. Schuester, planting a sloppy wet one on his lips. She had barely taken three steps into the building before she heard the first gasp, two steps later and everyone was stopped and literally staring at her with their eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Nobody had the guts to utter a single word as she walked forward, nodding to a couple of football players automatically, who took the hint and nodded back. Smirking, she adjusted her bag and pressed through a cluster of students who were still too in shock to move out of her way with her head held high. She was halfway to homeroom before anyone approached her.

"Hey, baby mama," Puck's forced casual was beyond awkward, and he shoved his hands into his jean pockets, looking everywhere in the hallway but at Quinn. Quinn tilted her head to look him over out of the corner of her eye but didn't respond any further. "So," he drawled, "what are you doing here?"

She couldn't help but roll her eyes, "Well I do still go to school here," she replied shortly, "or did you think I ran away again because I could use a vacation?"

"Are you still mad about that?" he sighed, leaning dejectedly back against the lockers beside hers when she stopped to pick up some books. "Look, I'm sorry, ok? How many times do you want me to say it?" she huffed, refusing to reply and focusing on her combination. "You know," he pushed forward, throwing his hands up, "I'm not the only one you should be mad at. Nobody else did anything either."

To be reminded stung more than she'd like to admit. Closing her eyes against the thought, she spun to face him, shoving her finger under his nose angrily, "exactly. That's why I'm mad at _all _of you. You're just the only one stupid enough to try to talk to me.

"Only because no one else has seen you yet!" he pointed out quickly, easily batting her finger out of his face. She turned away from him, throwing open her locker and rummaging through it mindlessly. "Are you even like-" she looked back in time to see him throw up a pair of air-quotes, "'_recovered_' enough to be back yet?"

"Well, I'm not going to be doing any back-flips any time soon," she shrugged her shoulders, "but I couldn't just sit home alone all day."

"Why not?" Puck demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Quinn turned to glare at him, slamming her locker shut with one hand.

"Because!" he waited for further explanation and she looked away again, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "I just-" she mumbled, a million and one explanations ran through her mind, but all remained caught in her throat. How could she explain it so that he would understand? Puck didn't do feelings. Puck did food, sex, drugs, and video games. That's why his worried look burrowing down on the top of her head was so unnerving.

She was just about to respond when an incredibly uncoordinated blur of plaid button up, hunter green vest, and unnaturally large hair appeared beside her, but she couldn't see much beyond the video camera shoved in her face. "Quinn Fabray!" the nasaly voice of Jacob Ben Israel shrilled in her ear, she cringed. "What do you have to say-" Puck pushed in front of her and she heard Jacob let out a cry of protest as his camera was mercilessly ripped out of his hands and thrown clattering to the floor, smashing into multiple pieces. "T-that was school property,"

Puck turned on Jacob, heaving him onto his toes by the collar of his shirt and slamming him against the lockers, "That's enough Jew-Fro," he growled, pulling him forward and slamming him back again for good measure "'less you want to meet with my friend Mr. Dumpster after school."

"N-No," he squeaked, "I understand. Miss Fabray's anonymity shall be respected."

"That's right," Puck let Jacob drop down to his feet, taking a step back. Jacob nervously shuffled from foot to foot, pulling on his fingers. Puck raised his fist and lurched forward, making to punch him. Jacob let out a girly shriek and ran off down the hallway, leaving his broken camera behind. Puck laughed, turning around.

"Noah Puckerman!" he screamed and jumped back. Rachel placed her hands on her hips, pursing her lips. "Jacob Ben Israel is regrettably disgusting, I'll admit, but even he doesn't deserve to be on the receiving end of your corporal bullying." Puck looked down at her and then up around the hallway, confused. "What are you doing?" she asked with an aspirated sigh.

He turned around again, but there was no sight of the blonde, "where's Quinn?"

Rachel rolled her eyes, tucking her hair back behind her ear, "At home, I would assume. She's not supposed to be back until next Monday."

"No," he insisted, "she was just here!"

Rachel then turned to look around curiously too, "Well, she's not now."

He groaned, "I can see that."

"Well, if she _is _back at school, I'm sure you'll see her in class, or lunch, or Glee Club. But now," the warning bell blared over head and the hallways almost immediately deserted of all student, "we're going to be late for class." She grabbed him by his forearm and pulled him along behind her towards English class.

Rachel didn't have any classes with Quinn until after lunch- not that they spoke much outside of Glee, and never in class, but it was hard not to notice when _Quinn _was in one of your classes, everyone fawned over her. Regardless, she did keep an eye out for the Head Cheerio for the rest of the day throughout the hallways, bust still didn't see her until History. Rachel arrived first and took her usual seat at the back of the room, pulling out her notes. To say the least, she was surprised when the chair beside hers was pulled out a few minutes later.

"Hey," Quinn greeted timidly. Rachel blinked away her shock and reminded herself to smile.

"Hey!" she responded automatically, hurrying to move her stuff off Quinn's desk, "what are you doing here?"

Quinn's smile faltered as she smoothed out her skirt, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "I've been getting that all day," she mumbled. Rachel's face blazed red as she struggled to correct herself.

"N-no, I mean," Rachel glanced around the room as the rest of the class filled in. She almost immediately spotted two lettermen jackets at the front of the room, at the pair of desks beside them sat a faceless Cheerio she couldn't name. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat, "No, I mean, what are you doing _here_," she gestured between Quinn and herself, "next to me."

It was Quinn's turn to be flustered and she turned away. "Oh," she looked down at her lap, she spoke so quietly that Rachel had to lean in to hear her properly. "All day," she let out a sigh, "people have been staring at me and asking questions," she explained, Rachel nodded for her to continue, "I was just _so _sick of it. And, I just figured, since no one ever sits-" she suddenly realized what she was about to say and cut herself off.

"No one ever sits back here with me," Rachel finished quietly, Quinn nodded. "Well," Rachel perked up, "I won't ask you any questions, and I certainly won't stare at you," she promised. Quinn smiled her thanks and nodded as their teacher began. Rachel kept her word, she didn't _stare_, per say, she just watched, very closely. And, as the clock ticked away closer to last period, she saw Quinn becoming more and more agitated by the minute until she looked like she was about to bounce out of her chair.

Quinn hardly noticed Rachel's eyes on her. She hardly noticed anything other than the little red second hand going around the clock at a painfully slow pace. It was impossible to concentrate, their teacher droning on was hardly more than an annoying buzz in the background. She wanted class to be over. She _needed _class to be over. Like, right away. Her foot tapped against the leg of her chair and her pen kept the same frantic rhythm against the top her book as she counted the seconds left. It was quite simple, there were too many.

Tearing her eyes away from the clock, she looked to the front of the class to see how many notes she'd missed. In squiggly white chalk, word after word of U.S. History was scrawled out across the blackboard. The words only made sense for about a moment before the letters and numbers swirled together right before her eyes. Moaning, she smacked a hand over her mouth as her stomach lurched. Placing her sweaty forehead against the cool top of her desk, she shut her eyes and forced her lips shut, praying for the moment to pass as her breaths came in short shaky gasps.

"Quinn?" Rachel whispered nervously, watching as Quinn's face drained of almost all color before she practically buried her face in her lap. Quinn didn't look up, she didn't even appear to have heard her. "Quinn?" she asked again, reaching out and tentatively touching her shoulder. Quinn gasped and roughly pulled away, falling completely out of her chair. The entire class turned around to look at her just in time for the tears to start falling.

Rachel watched, just as shocked as the rest of the class, as Quinn quickly composed herself, gracefully climbing off of the floor. Brushing her damp cheeks dry with the back of her hand, she quickly smoothed down her hair, sniffing slightly before glancing around the room. "I'm sorry," she mumbled quietly, bowing her head as she gathered her things together, "but I have to go."

"Quinn, wait!" Rachel was on her feet and following Quinn into the hallway before old Mrs. Fredrickson could say a single word. "Quinn!" she called, her voice ringing off the metal lockers. She found Quinn huddled in a ball outside of the Cheerios locker-room a few minutes later. "Quinn?" she approached cautiously.

Quinn glanced up, her hands immediately covering her face again as she desperately tried to hide her tears. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, but all the bitchiness was gone from her voice, leaving her small and broken.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," Rachel assured quickly, Quinn just looked away. Approaching slowly, she settled down on the floor next to her when Quinn made no move to send her away. "It's ok," she added quietly, reaching out and placing a hand on Quinn's bare knee, "you are allowed to be upset."

Quinn sniffed, shaking her head, "it's so _stupid_."

Rachel bit her lip, glancing around and spotting a clock at the far end of the hall, the period was almost over. "Did you drive to school?" she asked suddenly, Quinn gave her a questioning look as she suddenly jumped to her feet, pulling on Quinn's arm for her to do the same, "come on, I'll drive you home."

"Do you even know how to drive?" she asked doubtfully, but allowing herself to be dragged to her feet and lead down the hallway just the same. She watched Rachel's face turn red again.

"I have my learner's permit," Rachel insisted firmly, "but my dads took me out quite a bit this summer. I promise I won't crash," Quinn didn't look impressed, so she hurried to add, "you could call your mom, if you would rather."

"It's fine," Quinn insisted quickly, fishing the keys out of her pocket and handing them over, "I trust you."

Quinn lead the way out of the building and to where she'd left the shiny new car her daddy had bought her when life was still simple, way back before the whole baby fiasco of tenth grade. She groaned to herself just thinking about it, she was only in eleventh grade, how could so much have happened to one person in so short of time? Her breath started to come in gasps again until she felt a warm hand on her shoulder again. "Are you ready?" Rachel asked after Quinn managed to get her breathing under control, she nodded.

They'd been in the car for just a few minutes before they got stuck at their first red light. "Why did you come back to school?" Rachel heard herself blurt before she could stop it. Quinn turned to her and raised an eyebrow, "I-I know I said I wasn't going to ask any questions, but-"

"No, it's fine," Quinn cut her off with a shake of her head, turning to look back out her window. The light turned back to green and Rachel pulled carefully forward, assuming that was the end of the conversation, but then Quinn sighed. "I came back to school on Monday, to get my work, right?" Rachel nodded, she hadn't been aware, but that made sense. "I couldn't sleep- nightmares, so I finished it all yesterday."

Rachel gasped, "_all _of it?" Quinn felt herself smiling slightly.

"So that left me at home, with nothing to do," Quinn continued with barely a whisper, "alone." Rachel suddenly understood and felt incredibly cold. "It was just so quiet, and-and I, didn't want to be by yourself."

"You've got friends, Quinn," Rachel pressed surely, her grip tightening on the steering wheel when she felt Quinn look over at her curiously, "you don't have to be alone, you know. We're all here for you."

Quinn settled back in her seat, watching as all the big white houses passed by. "It's just up here, on the left," she explained, pointing four houses ahead. Rachel nodded and slowed the car down to a crawl. When they pulled into the driveway she immediately noticed the lack of any other cars and sighed. Rachel turned to her expectantly and she smiled, "do you," she hesitated, "do you want to come in and watch a movie or something?" Rachel grinned.

…

"Quinn dear?" Judy Fabray called from down the hallway, appearing in the door seconds later. Quinn looked up from her magazine, watching as the overly tense smile slipped from her mother's face when she noticed there was a guest in her daughter's room, the smile reappeared as Rachel looked up, "Oh, hello there."

Rachel climbed to her feet, the papers on her lap scattering across the carpet, Quinn got up to retrieve the ones that slipped under her bed. "Hi, Mrs. Fabray, I am Rachel Berry," Rachel greeted brightly, shoving her hand in the woman's direction expectantly, "I go to school with Quinn. We're in Glee together," she further explained when the woman made no move to accept her introduction.

Quinn gave her mother a warning look. Tilting her head slightly, Judy nodded after a moment, hesitantly taking the offered hand with the tips of her fingers, "Nice to meet you, Rachel. I was just about to have dinner started, will you be joining us?"

"Dinner?" Rachel repeated dumbly, her eyes going wide. Judy nodded her head, surprised when Rachel jumped back and turned to face Quinn, "what time is it?" she pressed urgently, looking around the room for a clock, but finding none.

Quinn flipped open her phone, as Rachel fumbled to pull her out of her jumper pocket "half passed six."

There was a sharp intake of breath as Rachel spun away from the door, eyes glued to her phone's screen: 8 missed messages. Hurrying to collect her things off of the floor, she spoke quickly over her shoulder. "Quinn, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, her head snapping towards the bed, causing her to drop half of the notebooks she'd collected, "I have to go, I am _so _late. I was supposed to meet Finn an hour ago, and I-" she stopped short, noticing the dark look that had settled over Judy's face. Swallowing hard, she turned back to Quinn nervously, "I am _really _sorry," she mumbled quietly, trying to discreetly glance over her shoulder as Judy walked away with a huff.

Quinn, however, let out a hearty laugh at Rachel's visibly discomfort. Shaking her head, she waved one hand dismissively, holding out the papers of Rachel's that she had collected with the other, "Don't worry about it, Rachel, I understand," she assured firmly, but Rachel didn't look convinced as she accepted the papers with a frown, "But, let him know I'm sorry for keeping you for so long, ok?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Quinn," Rachel snapped quickly, shoving the last of her books into her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder, "we're friends now, right? You didn't keep me from anything important. He'll understand, don't worry," she received a passive shrug in response and sighed, "I'll see you at school tomorrow." Quinn walked her to the front door and waved her goodbye.


	19. Chapter 19

**_A/N: _**_So, absent again, I know, I know, I don't deserve your love… but, omg, you deserve mine and so much more than I can properly portray over the internet, like you have no idea. Last chapter you breached the 100 review mark, people, I didn't think that was going to happen. I never even _considered _it. You don't even understand how much it meant to me/how ridiculously happy it made me! Seriously, if I could bake you all my insanely fabulous sugar cookies I would! (it's the one thing I can cook well, ok? I'm allowed to brag… well, I can also make these incredibly bad for you devil's food cake/pudding cupcakes, but those are messy). Anyways- thank you all so much for rocking the Technicolor toe-socks right off my feet._

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Nineteen**

"I can't believe you, Finn, really, I can't." Rachel huffed loudly from in front of Finn, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, holding her binders close. "It's Friday, Finn, _Friday_. We've been arguing about this for two whole days now. Do you have any idea what this sort of stress can cause a relationship? Especially one as new and budding as ours? Your inability to let it go is making me doubt our compatibility," she watched him not even try to hide his annoyed eyeroll and her temper flared, "and, last night-" he gave her a bored expression and sudden, painful, realization washed over her, she was the one who couldn't 'move on'. "And you meant what you said last night," she admitted to herself as a choked gasp of horror escaped her mouth as she turned away.

Finn felt beyond guilty as he watched her shoulders wrack with what he knew were silent sobs, glancing from her, back to his locker, he hung his head. "Rach-"

"No," her voice cracked, shaking her head vehemently from side to side.

"Rach, just wait, let me-" she pulled roughly away from his grasp and quickly turned away, expertly weaving her way into the WMHS student body mulling around the hallways in between periods, hardly anyone spared her tear-streaked face a second glance. Finn left his locker open and rushed after her, calling out once more with his hand outstretched, but he had a considerably more difficult time navigating the masses due to his size. Rachel didn't seem to notice or care as she blazed forward

"Your stubbornness over this issue is astounding, Finn," she called carelessly out, wiping her dripping nose with the back of her hand as she raised her head high, looking back only once, "I can't believe you would throw away our relationship over a little bit of, greatly misplaced, jealousy," the rest of what she threw back was tossed haphazardouly over her shoulder. Finn only managed to catch half of what she was saying. However, "but _you _ended it," and the pain in her voice rung out clearly.

She stopped suddenly, throwing her hands up in the air and turning around to face him again. He managed to stop just in time to keep from plowing straight into her and knocking her to the ground. Her silence bore through him more than her words ever could, and he slowly realized she was waiting for him to speak. But he couldn't, his mouth just hung open as he looked at her for the first time all morning. Her hair was a mess, her sweater was crumpled and twisted awkward, and her cheeks were still wet with tears. He swallowed, her arms were shaking with a fiery passion he'd never known her to have before, and he noticed her tiny hands were balled up into tiny, although still threatening fists. She glared up at him with all the might she could muster, and, if she were anybody else, he'd swear she was about to punch him.

"I just," she stopped and let out a shaky sigh, the anger quickly ebbing from her features, replaced with hurt and confusion, it caused his stomach to flip uncomfortably and he shifted from side to side. "I just don't understand," she mumbled. He opened his mouth to respond, but by the time he collected himself she was gone again, pushing through the crowd and halfway down the hallway before he even realized.

Finn watched her go, and when the bubbling rage growing in his stomach became too much, he turned and slammed his fist against the nearest locker, wincing slightly as pain exploded through his closed hand, but it faded to a dull throb soon enough. He didn't look down to assess his injury as he headed back to his own locker, but he knows there's blood. He doesn't feel it dripping off the tips of his fingers, but it's Kurt's horror-stricken features and inability to tear his eyes away from Finn's hand that confirms his suspicions when they come face to face moments later. "Kurt," Finn greats tensely, brushing by his sort-of-brother.

Automatically Kurt nods his head, "Finn." After another moment of staring he blinks and managed to look up, closing his mouth and flashing his usually quick, and not quite sincere, smile at the tall football player. "What was that all about?" he asks, Finn groans inwardly, apparently Kurt had been witness to it all and gestures off towards where Rachel ran to. Finn follows his wave and sees her huddled between Puck and Mercedes with her face in her hands.

He doesn't say anything for a long moment as the guilt consumes him, still watching the trio at the other end of the hallway. "I broke up with Rachel," he admits quietly.

Kurt's eyes go wide in surprise and he stands up a little straight. "Really?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

Finn nods and sighs again, "yeah."

"May I ask why?" Kurt presses and Finn can't find the energy to be annoyed as he reaches into his locker to pull out the rest of his homework.

"I don't really want to talk about it," he responds sullenly, slinging his bag over his shoulder and shutting his locker. He looks down just in time to see Kurt's face light up and mouth open up with a suggestion. "Or sing about it," he adds quickly.

Kurt's face falls, but then he shrugs. "It helped last time," is his only argument.

"It did," Finn admits, "but I don't know. I don't even know why I did it. She just made me so _mad_, and it sort of slipped out, you know?"

"I told you before," Kurt smirks, silently laughing, "_women_: they're up, they're down." But Finn didn't seem to get his attempt at a joke. Coughing awkwardly, he adjusted his designer jacket, "so," he glanced around the hallway, most of the students were on their way home, "what'd she do?"

Before Finn had the chance to respond, there was a sudden clang against the row of lockers behind them that caused Kurt to jump. Puck leaned in with his arms crossed over his chest, "S'up, Bitches," he greeted lewdly with a jerk of his chin. Kurt watched Finn's eyes turn worried at the look Puck was giving him, so curiously urged Kurt to turn around to face him. "Hummel," he was greeted simply, but Puck continued to look right over his head, gaze penetrating into Finn's. Puck pushed off the lockers and walked around Kurt, finally looking down at him when he stepped up beside Finn, hand roughly grabbing him around his lower arm, "if you'll excuse us, Hudson and I have to go and have a private little chat before glee." Without further explanation, Puck turned and dragged Finn off down the hallway. Kurt wasn't sure what to think.

Kicking open the door to an empty classroom, Puck roughly shoved Finn inside, stepping in himself a second later and slamming the door shut behind him, the blinds rattled. "What the hell is the matter with you?" he shouted loudly as Finn struggled to steady himself against the teacher's desk, knocking half the papers stacked there in the process.

"What are you talking about?" Finn demanded. Puck shoved him again without a word, Finn jumped forward and shoved back, his hands balling into fists, "dude!"

"This shit's gotta stop, man, it ain't cool!" Puck all but growled, brushing Finn's single-handed grip on his jacket off and pushing him back once more, this time sending him to the floor. He jabbed a finger down at his friend when it didn't look like Finn was comprehending the situation, "you're being a selfish asshole."

Finn's mind raced to finger out what Puck could _possibly _be talking about as he scrambled to his feet, but he came up short. The only thing he'd done was- "Is this about _Rachel_?" he asked incredulously after a moment, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Puck scoffed loudly. "What do _you _care? You don't even like her!"

"No." Puck admitted with a careless shrug, "but she told us what you said about Quinn. You know what she's been through!"

"Is that what she thinks?" Finn gaped, "What I said had nothing to do with Quinn! God! It was about _her_! That's exactly what I was saying-"

"Dude!" Puck was finding it harder and harder to resist the urge to slug Finn right in the face, and it was a quickly losing battle. "She said you were mad at her because she's been hanging out with Quinn instead of your ugly face. Your jealousy is so not cool. Quinn _needs _friends right now. She won't talk to us, you should be, like, thankful, or whatever, that she's willing to talk to your girlfriend! That psycho math teacher kept her locked up in that basement for _two _weeks!"

Finn's face was bright red, "you think I don't know that?" he shouted, "I was there when they pulled her out of that house too, you know!"

"No, what I _think_ is that you don't seem to give a damn that she's still hurting!" Puck automatically responded, mocking Finn's tone. Finn jumped him without warning, fist pulled back and slamming against Puck's face before they even tumbled all the way to the floor. With a guttural growl, Puck pushed Finn back and flipped them over, smashing his own fist against Finn's nose twice before he was suddenly knocked backwards.

Looking up, ready to pounce on whoever had interrupted them, he was surprised, and taken aback, to find one of the science teachers towering over him. The one that used to play varsity wrestling, or something, when he went to college. He was about to ask what the fuck he was doing when he spotted Miss Pillsbury was standing in the corner beside the door, her hands covering her mouth and eyes even more ridiculously wide than normal, she must've seen them come in here and run off to get help.

Finn didn't seem to notice the presence of either teacher as he sat up, immediately launching himself forward at Puck again. "Dude," he grunted on impact, "you have no _idea _what you're talking about!" Mr. Wrestler/Science Teacher yanked Finn off and tossed him back. Finn landed on his back hard, shocked and staring at the ceiling.

"Boys!" the heavy voice rumbled, shocking them both upright. "I don't know _what _you're fighting about, and I don't care," he snapped when they both moved to explain, "but you're on school grounds, in a _classroom_. If you can't figure this mess out, right now, or take it elsewhere, then I'm going to have no choice but to drag you to Principal Figgins' office myself."

"No!" they both exclaimed at the same time, glancing at each other nervously, Puck nodded his head slowly.

"No," he repeated after his breathing evened out and the adrenaline stopped coursing through his veins, "no. We're fine, right, Finn?"

"Yeah," Finn nodded quickly, "yeah, totally," he looked from Puck, back to the teacher, and then Miss Pillsbury, pleading, "we're good."

Puck climbed to his feet with a slightly groan, smirking when he was giving two questioning stares. "Don't worry about us," he insisted, casually wiping the blood from his split lip, "no big deal," he shrugged. "_Girls_," was his only explanation.

His excuse, although not entirely a lie, had the desired effect and the old wrestler laughed, gripping his big, solid, belly, "well, boys will be boys. Hormones and all that. Well, run off now, but if I catch either of you doing anything like this ever again," he eyed them both carefully, letting his threat hang in the air, they both nodded.

"You're still an insensitive prick," Puck suddenly said as they limped their way down the empty hallways as fast as they could manage, they were already fifteen minutes late to Glee.

Finn chose to ignore Puck's comment, still focused on the events from a few minutes before, "I can't believe Miss P. didn't rat on us to Figgins."

"Are you kidding?" Puck asked with a laugh, "did you see her face? She was terrified! And I'm not even sure it was of us," he added as an afterthought.

Finn nodded in agreement, "That dude was huge!" then he crinkled his nose, "so were his pit stains."

Mr. Schuester stopped his speech short when the door behind him was pushed open and turned to see who it was, half expecting another confrontation with Sue. He was surprised, however, when both Finn and Puck shuffled in with their hand in their pockets, heads low, looking bashful, and sporting matching injuries. Sighing, he decided it was best not to ask and motioned for them to take their seats. The first thing Finn noticed was Rachel's absence and he felt an unexpected wave of sickness wash over him at the thought that he made her miss her favorite activity.

"Ok, everyone, I think we're going to try something different today," Mr. Schuester spoke up again, this time pacing back and forth behind the piano with his hands clasped in front of him. "We've all been sort of having a rough time lately, and I realize some of you are having a difficult time dealing with recent events.

The entire room fell silent. Everyone kept their eyes purposefully forward, both afraid to find someone else looking at them, and afraid to accidentally look at the wrong person and set them off with silent implications.

"In light of this," Mr. Schue continued, "I was thinking we could try some music therapy. You've all been affected by this, no matter how slightly. Therefore, I'd like _all _of you to think of some songs that might express your feelings in a way you might not be able to word on your own. I don't think I have to convince any of you that music can be a powerful healing remedy."

"What? And that's it?" to everyone's great surprise, it was Santana who spoke up. She'd fallen relatively silent over the last hour, so no one was expecting one of her regular outburst, but now she had her arms crossed and a narrow glare on her face. "So we're all going to sing, and then what?" she scoffed, laughing coldly, "we hug each other and it'll make everything all better?"

Mr. Schue opened his mouth to respond but was at a loss for words for a moment, so she plowed right over him without giving him another second to think, "that's complete bull, and you know it."

"Santana," he started slowly, "I understand if-" but she shook her head, cutting him off abruptly.

"Singing about our _feelings _isn't going to make everything better," she snapped. Her eyes drifted down to her feet, but she pretended that they didn't, raising her head a little higher, "It's not going to change what happened."

He opened his mouth to respond right away, but closed it and sighed, shaking his head slightly. "The point isn't to change what happened," he explained carefully, "it's to come to terms with it and how it made you feel. _That's _what singing is supposed to do."

"Well, I don't want to sing about my fucking feelings, that's retarded. And anybody who hasn't gotten over _"recent events"_ just needs to grow up and move on." Several eyes glanced at Quinn, who only frowned as Santana got up and stormed out of the room.

"Mr. Schue?" Artie raised his hand, Mr. Schue nodded for him to continue. "I think," he glanced around the room: their freshmen had been missing for a week, Rachel was absent for the first time ever, Puck and Finn were still bleeding, Santana walked out, and Quinn looked about ready to puke. "I think it might be best if we ended early today," he suggested quietly.

Mr. Schue nodded his head and sighed, setting his papers down on the piano, "Yeah."

**_

* * *

_**

**_A/N: _**_I like Finn, I swear. Well, most of the time. Some of the time… well, he amuses me, ok? I know he's not really a bad guy, but I needed someone to be! And he fit the bill for my purposes, so I didn't have much of a choice, really. My brain demanded more gleek interaction and conflict, so this is what happened, please don't hate him, I'll make it better soon, I promise. 4 chapters left!_


	20. Chapter 20

**_A/N:_**_ It's been 12 ridiculously long days since I've updated this, so let me explain real quick and we'll get the show on the road. I was going through the reviews and noticed that there were some questions that never got answered, so I changed up the Gleek chapter I was planning in order to fill in some of the plot-gaps I forgot about. Of course that chapter wasn't planned to happen until later, but this fit here, so… _here_ it is! Hopefully I made it work. If not, feel free to let me know. Oh, and if you asked something that's not explained here, I have a second 'explanation' part planned that's going to be added to a different chapter, so I'll probably get around to it- if not, feel free to ask again and I'll make sure to add it. So, yeah… onwards! _

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Twenty:**

While their traditional Friday dinners usually took place at the Hummel homestead, they occasionally moved their weekly festivities to the Hudson's, just to keep things interesting. Kurt arrived with his father promptly at half passed 5, and was immediately ushered upstairs to find Finn while his father rushed to help Carol cook. And just cook. Kurt was happy for his father's newfound happiness, really, but he didn't want to think about him partaking in any level of intimacy. Ever. Honestly, it made him shudder.

So, while his father was downstairs being not intimate, Kurt found himself standing awkwardly at the door to the most atrociously decorated cowboy room he'd ever laid eyes on. And he'd once babysat for a family that let their 8 year old son paint his own room. Finn was sprawled out on his bed, upside down and half hanging off the side with his eyes glued to the television screen and mouth hanging open. He was completely oblivious to Kurt's presence until Kurt cleared his throat a second time.

Scrambling to sit upright, Finn's head whipped around towards the door, eyes wide and confused. Breaking out into an awkward half-grin, he gestured for Kurt to come in, "Hey!" he greeted loudly, turning around to better face the door as Kurt cautiously entered, holding his bag close to his side. "What are you doing here?"

Kurt tore his eyes away from the offending wallpaper to stare at Finn for a moment, desperately fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "It's Friday night," he pointed out, Finn continued to look at him blankly, "and that means we have dinner. Remember?" He watched the thought process project across Finn's face

"Oh," Finn suddenly smiled again, nodding his head, "right."

Kurt also nodded, his eyebrows raised high as he thought about how he ever could've had a crush on this boy. "My dad and your mom are cooking now. Dinner should be ready in an hour," he explained, taking seat at Finn's desk.

"Ok cool," Finn's hands slapped his thighs as he looked around the room awkward, normally they were at Kurt's house and just watched sports on the big screen tv until it was time to eat. He wasn't really sure how to entertain the other boy on his own territory. "Do you," he looked towards his own, much smaller, tv, "do you want to play a video game?" he asked hopefully.

Kurt immediately shook his head. "I brought some homework, I can do that while you play, if you'd like."

"Oh," Finn deflated slightly and frowned, glancing out the window. Kurt felt a little bad, but just a little. Not nearly enough to subject himself to the mindless violence Finn seemed to enjoy so much. Plus, he was still mad at him. Finn huffed, hulking his shoulders slightly before letting them down in an exaggerated shrug as he looked back at Kurt, "I guess I can do some homework too. I don't normally do it until Sunday, if I do it at all, but it won't hurt to get it done early, right?"

"That's normally what I do," Kurt agreed, rummaging through things for his assignment book.

"Cool," Finn grinned, "you going to work on your Spanish essay?" Kurt sighed.

They were half way through their essays when there was a knock at the door. Expecting his dad, or maybe Carol, Kurt was surprised to see Puck leaning casually against the doorframe when he looked up. "Hey," Puck nodded his head in their direction before pushing off and taking a step into the room, "what's going on?" he looked right at Kurt when he asked.

"Uh," Finn looked around, clearly at a loss for words. Kurt rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, bringing Pucks attention back to him.

"Our parents are dating," Kurt began simply, "so our families have dinner together every Friday night. It's sort of a tradition."

Puck didn't say anything and just looked at him for a long moment. Kurt wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't for Puck to smirk and nod his head in approval as he walked over and sat beside Finn on the bed, giving his friend a heavy pat on the back. "Right, you told me about that, so it's going good?"

"Yeah, I think so," Finn admitted after a short pause, "they're really happy."

"Think they'll get married?" Puck immediately asked. Kurt and Finn both glanced at each other before simultaneously deciding not to respond to that. "I better be invited to the wedding," Puck added quickly, staring at them in all seriousness before throwing his head back with a sudden bark of laughter, "weddings are one of _the _best places to pick up chicks."

"Dude," Finn laughed, shaking his head at his own thought, "if you hit on my cousin again, her dad is so going to beat you. He was so pissed when you flipped her skirt."

"Angelina? That girl was smoking," Puck sighed wisfully, Kurt rolled his eyes and turned back to his homework.

"She's fourteen!" Finn argued, Puck shrugged his shoulders again.

"So?" Puck demanded, "I'm sixteen, that's totally legal. Plus, that girl doesn't look no fourteen."

Finn just shook his head, "Whatever, man. I don't want to hear it when you're dead then. Her dad's a cop."

"My lips will be sealed," Puck promised.

Kurt shook his head, mumbling to himself as he brought his book closer to his nose in an attempt to concentrate with the incessantly juvenile conversation going on in the background. He half-listened them argue about who 'the greatest band to ever walk the Earth' was, Mario Brothers, Dinosaurs, and which flavor gummi-bear was the best, for a good ten minutes before anything serious was brought up.

"Dude!" Finn jumped to his feet, angrily throwing his hands into the air, Kurt paused in his reading to look back, Puck, while appearing equally angry, was still sitting on the bed. "I thought we were done with this conversation earlier. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Puck climbed to his feet as well, squaring his shoulders as he looked up at his considerably taller friend, "We're not done talking about it until you do something to fix it." Kurt immediately knew what they were talking about.

"Mercedes said that Rachel was pretty upset earlier," Kurt couldn't help but add from his textbook.

Finn looked from Kurt's back to Puck, his mouth hanging open, "but I didn't _do _anything, I just-"

Puck quickly cut him off, "You told her that she was spending too much time with Quinn, and not enough with you, I know. That's messed up, man."

"That isn't even what I said!" Finn argued, stomping around the room, "I just told her that I didn't like that she kept blowing me off every night this week. Everyone else is making it some big deal about Quinn, I didn't even mention her."

Kurt let out an annoyed puff of air, slamming his pen down as he spun around in the chair, "but don't you see?" he asked, Finn looked to him, obviously perplexed. Obviously, he didn't see. "It _is _about Quinn. Haven't you been watching her lately? She's a complete mess."

"She seems fine to me," Finn mumbled to the floor, shuffling his feet from side to side.

"She's _acting_," Puck jumped to explain.

"Exactly," Kurt agreed with a nod, "You're mad at Rachel for blowing you off this week and not caring that it's made you upset, while she's always freaked out at you every time you blew her off or were late to a date or something, correct?" Finn nodded his head. "The thing is," Kurt's voice was drastically more serious now, "you normally blow her off to play video games or hang out with Puck. Rachel's been over at Quinn's house every night this week, trying to be a good friend and help Quinn make sense of all her emotions and things, since no one at home can help her. So, whether or not you meant to, you made it about Quinn."

Puck crossed his arms over his chest, "Dude," he ordered sharply, "you just need to give Rachel a break. Quinn's going to feel really guilty about this whole thing if she thinks you guys broke up because of _her_."

"But I didn't-"

"It's what everyone is going to think," Puck insisted, "So you're going to have to get back together with Rachel, or make damn sure Quinn knows it's not her fault. Either way, you've got to stop being a pussy about this whole thing."

Finn was quiet for a long time, staring down at his socked feet.

"Quinn's messed up, man," Puck sighed when the silence in the small room became unbearable. "She was kidnapped, and we didn't do anything to help her. You _owe _it to her to work this thing with Rachel out. Don't you remember how lost and confused everyone was when Quinn first went missing? How lost and confused we _both _were? The whole club was a freaken disaster." Finn thought about it and then looked up, slowly nodding his head in agreement.

Puck ran a hand over his minimal hair, shaking his head and pacing across the length of the room, seething. "We convinced each other that she just ran away and moved on and pretended nothing was wrong, because that was easier than thinking something really bad happened. But we _were _wrong. And I know _I _felt guilty when we found out she'd actually been kidnapped and was sitting right down the street the whole time, waiting to be rescued while we did nothing and played stupid video games. Don't tell me you weren't guilty too!"

Finn remained silent. Of course he'd felt guilty. Hell, he still felt guilty about it, he just didn't like thinking about it. They all felt guilty, everyone in Glee, Mr. Schue, and the others, he could see it on their faces every day. No one laughed or joked around anymore, everyone tip toed around Quinn and Santana, and Rachel hadn't brought up Broadway in two weeks. He thought back to Quinn's thin body being carried, completely motionless, out of that little house, and suddenly, it was like they were all standing out in the snow together, watching it happen again.

The wind was howling and the snow was coming down sideways, Finn could still feel the cold biting at his fingers and nose. It was hard to believe that almost three weeks had already passed since they all stood huddled together in that storm. He blinked in the harsh spotlight as one of the policemen did a quick sweep of the crowd, he was saying something, but Finn couldn't quite hear what over the wind.

There was a lot of movement, people rushing around, pushing forward, he could hear a lot of yelling, but couldn't make out any of the words. Rachel stood, frozen, beside him, her hand clutching the sleeve of his jacket as she hoisted herself on her tiptoes, trying to see over the heads of everyone around her, but it was no use. None of them could see what was going on up beyond the barriers, the police cars and ambulances were in the way, blocking their view.

The yelling got louder, and everyone up front jerked in the same direction. Rachel ducked back as Finn pushed forward with the rest of the group to see, so she's the only one that notices. "Is that-" she struggles to push her way between Puck and Mike, "is that _Santana_?" her arm outstretched, finger pointing. Puck is the only one to hear her and his head whips around. Santana is pulling her sleeve from a policeman's grasp as he yells for her to stop, but she doesn't listen and takes off down the sidewalk again as soon as she's free. Puck runs after her.

"What's going on?" Rachel hears Tina ask from behind her, "where's Puck going?"

Rachel doesn't respond, but pushes her way through the crowd to follow the fading path that Puck left behind, she can feel Finn coming close behind her. As he closes the distance between them, he can hear Rachel muttering to herself, "what is she thinking? Did you see her?" she asks, glancing back once, "she's covered in blood!"

Finn nodded his head, "it might not be hers, though." He turns to gesture in front of the house, they're along the side of the crowd now, so it's easier to see. "Brittany's dad is being looked at by a bunch of the ambulance people. It's probably his." Rachel makes a thoughtful noise and continues forward. Up ahead, Puck had been apprehended and stopped on the corner of the street by one of the police officers who'd followed Santana. They can hear him demanding to know what's going on.

Just as they came to stand beside Puck, one of the officers who followed Santana in the house came running back out again, his face pale as he calls for an ambulance. Rachel feels her stomach lurch and wonders what possibly could've happened to Santana in the few short minutes she'd escaped inside. From the looks on Puck and Finn's faces, they're wondering the same thing. Rachel's knocked into by a news reporter and stumbles sideways, bumping into Puck's shoulder, he looks over and steadies her. None of them are expecting Quinn's limp body to be carried carefully out of the house seconds later. It takes two officers to hold each of the boys back as they try to rush forward, and another to block the reporter and her camera from getting too close.

Quinn stirs in the officer's arms just as they're leaving the front yard. She blinks twice before she realizes she's being carried and automatically goes rigid. Her voice rips hoarse and raw from her throat as she demands to be left alone. She thrashes with an unexpected surge of energy, forcing the man to set her gently down along the curb in fear of dropping her as she continues to scream for her to let her go. Taking two steps back, he holds his empty hands up for her to see, trying desperately to explain the situation to her, but she's hysterical and refusing to listen. After she violently jerks away from his grasp a second time, he gives up and back away, calling to the EMTs and pointing in her direction. Once he's sure one of them is on their way, he rushes to meet with his partner, who's still holding Santana by her arm at the front of the house.

Thankful to be left alone, Quinn warily eyes the retreating man's back until she's sure he's not going to turn around. Pulling her legs in, she wrapped her arms around them and burrows her face in the space between her knees, desperately fighting back the nausea rolling through her stomach and begging her head to stop spinning. She hears yelling, yelling that she knows should sound familiar, but she's too tired to lift her head up and look. Then everything goes quiet and her head stops throbbing. Looking up, everything is still except for the snow falling. She watches it with intense fascination and holds out her hand.

Puck fights with one of the officers holding him back, desperately trying to pull out of his grasp, but there are two of them and only one of him, he soon gives up and starts yelling. "Damn it, that's our friend over there! You have to let us go see her! What was she even doing in there?" The officers continue to hold him still, but they look just as perplexed as he is.

"Quinn's been missing for two weeks," Rachel tries to explain, but none of the uniformed men are listening to her as they struggle to maintain control over the crowd that had moved their attention to the end of the street.

"We need barricades over here!" one of them shout. "Come on, people, back up, give the ambulance room to pull in!"

One of the officers released Puck's right arm to go and help the others control the ever growing crowd, and Puck took the opportunity to rush forward, only to be immediately pushed back. "I understand she's your friend, but-"

"The fuck you understand!" Puck yells back, but this time Finn holds pulls him away.

"Noah," Rachel steps in front of him, looking up desperately, "we have to let the EMTs do their work, you'll just get in the way," she calmly explains, and he looks down at her like she's grown three heads. "They're not going to let you through, you're just going to get yourself in trouble. Let's go back and tell the others about Quinn, they might not know." It takes a long minute, but Puck finally agrees and allows Rachel to lead the way back.

When the three of them finally rejoin the others, they're surprised to find Mr. Schuester standing amongst their midst. He gives them a sad smile as they approach.

"Did you guys figure out where Santana ran off to?" Mercedes asks expectantly. They look to each other, silently trying to figure out what to say. It's Rachel who finally turns to the group and quietly explains that they found Quinn.

Mr. Shuester is barely able to stop them all from sprinting to the house. Standing in their way, he holds out his hands, eyeing them each individually, "I understand how hard it is for you guys. I know you want to be there for your friend, but they're not going to let you see Quinn. I'll go over and see if I can find anything out. Maybe they'll let me talk to her. Wait here and I'll let you guys know what's going on, ok?" With no other options, they all agreed.

As Finn watched Mr. Schue walk off in the direction he'd just come from, he couldn't help but feel completely useless and a little scared, Quinn was so small and broken. Rachel's hand slipped into his and he felt her squeeze tight, he squeezed back.

"Man," Finn sighed, leaning back on his bed and staring at the ceiling, "I'm such an asshole."

Puck smirked from his spot against the wall, Kurt looked over as he walked forward, "you sure are," he agreed, "So, are you going to apologize?"

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" Finn asked, sitting up and looking at the other two expectantly. Kurt just turned around, Puck shrugged.

"Hell if I know," he admitted, "but if she doesn't it's her own fault you guys broke up, so Quinn can't be upset."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "the sequencing of your logic is astounding."


	21. Chapter 21

**_A/N: _**_Surprise! I'm not dead! But my computer is (*cries*). I've been in internet withdrawal for the last two weeks so tonight I decided to make home in one of my school's computer lab so I could finally get some writing done. Anyways, just a quick reminder, we're winding down now, just two or three chapters left. I'm not entirely sure exactly how many because I lost all my outlines and plans in "the great crash", but, either way, we're still almost done. Although, at the rate I've been going, who knows, I might not finish until Christmas... so, for anyone still hanging with me, I'm very, incredibly, sorry, and thank you! _

**_

* * *

_**

**Chapter Twenty-One:**

Brittany and Emily were sitting on the stairs and watching their uncle strip the old, still stained, carpet off the living room floor for almost an hour on Sunday night while sharing a bowl of popcorn and chattering nonsense about their cousins, their uncle's children. When conversation died down and their uncle rolled out the new carpet, Emily declared that she was bored and returned to her room to watch a movie, leaving Brittany alone in silence. As she watched her sister go, Brittany sighed, her shoulders drooping as she leaned her head against the handrail.

She contemplated following Emily, to join her watching whatever little kid movie she'd picked out that Brittany probably already knew all the words to, but ultimately decided against it. It would probably just lead to another argument like the one the night before, where Emily yelled at her for hanging around too much and being hover-y. Brittany wasn't worried about her or anything, not like the adults in their life were anyway, she just wasn't used to being left on her own so much and clung to whoever was closest to her. Plus, the house had become far too quiet, even Emily's complaining was better than the quiet.

Normally, though, the house was noisy and full of happy sounds. She and Santana would be running up and down the stairs, shouting and goofing off while her mother laughed at them from the kitchen. Emily would be on their heels, begging to join in whatever game they were playing, and her father would be yelling for them all to be quest so he could hear the news. But things weren't like that anymore. And she wasn't entirely sure if things were ever going to be like they used to be again either.

Lately, her father hadn't done much but hole up in his room all day while his shoulder healed, which _were _his doctor's older, but even Brittany could see that he was depressed and using his injury as an excuse to avoid the world. She also knew that Emily missed him terribly, because she checked on him at least twice every hour. Brittany wished the television downstairs hadn't been broken, so he could at least lay there and watch old reruns instead of in his room. But he was going to start physical therapy in a few days, since the muscle had been torn, so that would give him a reason to get out of bed and move around the house again, even though it was still going to be a while until he was able to go back to work, which was what was really upsetting him, at least it would be an improvement. To make up for the slack, and to pay for the medical bills and repairs to the house, her mom was taking double shifts at work. They brought her home later and later every night, and they sometimes wouldn't see her before bed. That also left Brittany to do the majority of the cooking, which Emily wasn't pleased about in the least bit. To Emily's pleasure, however, their uncle had bought them pizza that night.

Minus the pineapple-pepperoni pizza, all of it sucked. But, mostly, Brittany just really missed Santana. She hadn't seen her best friend since Friday at school, and it'd been even longer than that since they'd actually talked. If Santana had been around for the last week, like she would normally be, cooking wouldn't be so hard, the house wouldn't be so quiet, and she wouldn't be so lonely. Sighing for probably the hundredth time, she stood up, said goodbye to her uncle, and went upstairs to her own room to get ready for bed; there was early Cheerios practice in the morning.

What Brittany discovered an hour before school started the next day, was that they didn't actually have morning practice. And apparently never did. At least according to the schedule hanging on Coach Sylvester's door, anyway. Glancing around the empty hallways, she briefly wondered what to do before bring her attention back to the offending piece of paper, fixing it with her best mock-Santana glare. Maybe if she stared at it long enough it would change and the others would show up and they could practice? Or it could just spontaneously catch on fire. Sometimes she was afraid things would do that when Santana glared at them. But, deciding that that most likely wasn't going to happen, she turned and sulked off in a random direction, she didn't even know which, her sneakers squeaking down the silent hallway.

She wandered around for a long time, keeping her eyes focused on the linoleum tiles under her feet, counting them as she passed. She didn't mind that she lost count a few times and had to start over, and eventually just saying 'one, two, three' over and over like a dance. A few times she even caught herself spinning. But, eventually, even she gets tired, and looks up from the floor for the first time in almost 40 minutes. To her surprise, the halls have started to fill in, kids in other clubs have showed up, some sporting tubas and other big shiny instruments, and she even spots a few teachers. Looking around more carefully, she also realizes she close to her locker and sets off to find it. She hopes she'll have enough time to get it open before classes start.

As usual, Miss Pillsbury showed up to the school a prompt forty-five minutes before the first bell. She didn't generally make appointments during the first period, but she liked to be on campus, just in case she was needed for something. Or in case Will decided to drop by for an early morning talk. But she likes to think she's there mostly for the students. Which is why she jumps on the opportunity to help a very dejected looking Brittany, who she finds blankly staring at nothing with her forehead resting against her locker.

"Brittany?" she asks gently, placing a tentative hand on the girl's forearm.

It takes a second for the action to register, but eventually Brittany turns her head curiously, her eyes immediately going wide as she jerks back. "I'm not hiding anything!" she hurriedly exclaims.

Miss Pillsbury, taken aback, chances a quick suspicious look at the locker they're standing in front of before shaking her head, forcing her best cheerful smile. "I didn't say that you were," she insisted gently, but Brittany didn't look convinced that she wasn't in trouble. "Why don't you come into my office and we can talk for a little bit before class?" she offered after a moment, Brittany just shrugged, but followed her to the office at the end of the hallway.

After Emma had situated herself behind her desk, and fixed all the files neatly laid out, she turned her attention to Brittany, who was waiting expectantly in one of the chairs opposite her desk. "So," she began, Brittany blinked, "what are you doing here so early today?"

"I came for Cheerios practice," Brittany responded simply.

Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise, glancing down at her desk for a quick second before adjusting one of the files, "I didn't think the Cheerios had practice on Monday morning this year, because of the new rule the Board of Directors instated?"

Brittany nodded after a moment of thought, "that's what the note on Coach Sylvester's door said."

"There hasn't been practice all semester on Mondays, so why did you come in?" she pressed.

Brittany just shrugged her shoulders, "I forgot."

"Is that unusual?" Miss Pillsbury started tapping her fingers.

Brittany shrugged again, digging through her backpack before producing her cellphone as evidence, holding it out in front of her for Miss Pillsbury to see, "Usually my phone reminds me when we have, and don't have, practice, but I haven't been getting those text a lot lately, so I figured I'd better come in anyway," she mumbled, "just in case."

"You use your phone to set reminder alarms?" Emma didn't bother to hide the surprise in her voice, "Those are some very good organizational skills. That's very good," she smiled, Brittany just looked confused.

"I don't know how to set alarms on my phone," she explained.

"Oh," now Miss Pillsbury looked confused, she glanced around the tidy space for some hint of where to take the conversation next, "so," she recovered quickly, smiling again and straightening up slightly, "how have your classes been going lately?"

"I don't know," her reply is, again, immediately. Truthfully, she'd been skipping a lot. She couldn't even remember why either.

Miss Pillsbury nodded after a second, apparently accepting the response before asking another question, "Are you doing well?" Brittany just stared at her after that one. Fidgeting again, Miss Pillsbury glanced down at the pencils she had laid out along the side of her desk. She hurriedly straightened one that was lightly off. Brittany watched her movements closely and squinted. Miss Pillsbury was starting to seriously freak her out, she shifted in her seat and glanced towards the door, back to the pencils Miss Pillsbury was still touching.

"So, Brittany," Brittany looked up from the pencils, nodding slightly, "I was wondering if you wanted to talk about what happened a few weeks ago?"

Brittany thought about it for a moment before becoming confused again, "what happened a few weeks ago?"

"In your house?" Miss Pillsbury prompted, Brittany shook her head, feeling uncomfortable, "with Mr. Sanders?"

Suddenly Brittany stood up, "Can I go now?" she asked quickly. Before Emma could response, Brittany was out the door.

Once she was safe in the hallway, away from Miss Pillbury's creepy big brown eyes and lemony-smelling office, Brittany took a big breath and immediately felt better. She also quickly noticed that the hallways had filled in a considerable amount since she went in to talk to Miss Pillsbury. She spotted Becky at the far end of the hallway and waved, Becky waved back, a smile on her face.

"Brittany?" she frowned then, hoping Miss Pillsbury hadn't followed her to ask more questions, but she found Rachel looking at her instead. And she was standing with Quinn, who flashed her a quick smile which she returned in full.

"Hey!" she grinned, walking over.

Rachel looked from Brittany, to the door she'd walked out of, and back again suspiciously. "Are you ok?" she asks suddenly, Brittany opens her mouth to respond that, of course she's ok, but then Rachel keeps talking. "Is something wrong? Why were you talking to Miss Pillsbury? Did something happen?" there are about eight more questions after those, but Brittany quickly loses track and forgets half of her answers.

Sensing that Brittany is being overwhelmed, Quinn takes pity on her and places a hand on Rachel's shoulder, pulling her close to whisper something in her ear. Brittany notices Rachel quickly glancing in her direction once more before she turns and hurries off down the hallway without a second word. "Where'd Rachel have to go to so fast?"

Quinn just shrugged, offering out her elbow for Brittany to take instead, "want to walk with me?" Brittany immediately loops their arms together. They're halfway down the science wing before either of them say anything, it's Quinn who speaks first, bringing Brittany back out of her head, "so, do you want to talk about why you've been down these last few days?" For a moment, Brittany doesn't answer, she just continues to stare at the wall. "Britt, it's ok, you can talk to me."

"But you're sad too," she insists. Quinn just smiles slightly, shaking her head, it figures. Nudging her shoulder slightly with her own, Quinn tries again.

"Don't worry about that right now, what's up with you? You're usually cheerful," she points out, but Brittany remains silent. Quinn reaches out and touches Brittany's hand, "I miss the happy you."

"It's Santana," Brittany admits without hesitation, turning her worried blue eyes back to Quinn again. "She's not talking to me. Or texting me. Or… anything. So, I think I did something wrong, but I can't figure out what. I didn't mean to, whatever I did. I don't want her to be mad at me. I thought I was- I didn't- she said- I-" she begins to babble and Quinn's afraid she's about to lose it, so she quickly ushered her out of the hallway, and away from prying eyes, and into the closest bathroom. It's still early, so, thankfully, the room is empty. She takes a moment to lock the door behind them anyway, just in case.

"Britt, calm down," she sooths quietly, doing her best to bite her tongue about their missing third skirt. She knows bashing Santana now won't do Brittany any good. "What happened?" she asks once Brittany's calmed down again. Brittany's looking at the floor, staring forlornly at the scuff on her sneaker. She shrugs. "Come on," Quinn insists.

"After practice on Tuesday, we kind of had a fight. She was being moody, like," Brittany glanced over, "more than normal," she clarified, Quinn tried not to smirk. "I tried asking her about it, but she got all touchy and yelled at me. She didn't even go to practice, she just sat in the parking lot and waited for me, so I thought she might be sick, and I said we could go to my place, since her parents weren't going to be home. Because, you know, my mom makes really good soup when I'm sick, and I thought that might help. And then I mentioned Emily would like to play doctor with us again, and," her voice trailed off, and she just looked so broken and worried that Quinn couldn't stop the anger that flared up with Santana again.

"Then what happened?" she pressed gently, rubbing a hand up and down Brittany's back.

Brittany looked towards the door, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "She started crying, like, sobbing. And she wouldn't tell me why. Then she got out of the car and walked away. I tried to follow her, but she told me to stay. I waited and waited, but she didn't come back. Eventually my mom called and asked where I was. She came and picked me up."

Quinn was shocked, "did Santana get home?"

Brittany nodded, "I saw her car in her driveway later that night. I tried to call her, but she didn't answer. She hasn't talked to me since."

"You didn't do anything wrong, B, don't worry," Quinn assured firmly, Brittany just shrugged. "Do you want me to try talking to her, though? To try and figure out what's bothering her?" she offered slowly after a minute. Brittany looked hopeful for a second, and then terrified.

"Don't tell her I told you! She'll be really mad, and I don't want her to hit you!" Quinn actually laughed out loud at that, and quickly assured Brittany she would be fine. "Really," Brittany begged, "don't tell her."

"I won't Britt, don't worry. Now, come on," she pushed away from the sink and lead the way towards the door, Brittany following close behind her, "we're going to be late for class if we don't' hurry up."

"I don't know what class I have first," Brittany admitted once they stepped back out into the hallway.

Quinn thought about it for a moment, there was a time where she knew Brittany and Santana's schedules better than her own, of course, that had been in eighth grade. But, still… "I think you have English, with Tina, right?"

Brittany's face brightened after a second, "oh yeah!" she gave Quinn a quick hug before saying thanks and hurrying off to a class she hadn't been to in a whole week. Quinn watched her go, making sure she didn't go in the completely wrong direction, before turning around and making her own way to class.

Taking her usual seat in the third row, thanks to alphabetical order- which, seriously? What is this, third grade? and looks around as the rest of the class starts to fill in. She's only mildly surprised when Santana's seat remains empty, she's borderline late on a _good _day. However, when Santana doesn't show up by the last bell, Quinn assumes she's home sick or skipping all together. That's why she's surprised when Santana shows up twenty minutes later, throwing the door open with a bang, leaving it rattling on its hinges. Their teacher lets out an annoyed huff and asks something about a pass, to which Santana just shrugs and takes her seat, two rows over from Quinn, in the second seat back.

Once she's sure the teacher has gone back to whatever their lesson is supposed to be out, Quinn's not really paying attention, she crumples up a piece of paper and aims for the back of Santana's head. Years of pelting Rachel with random found object lead her to being an expert shot, and the ball landed directly on target. Spinning around, Santana fixes her with a sharp glare, her lip curling up in close to a snarl. Quinn's almost worried, it's been a while since she's seen _that _face, and the last time she did they ended up in smack down. But that was also back in eighth grade.

'I need to talk to you' she mouths slowly, sure that Santana can figure out what she's saying. Santana rolls her eyes and turns back around with a dismissive flick of her risk, pulling out a notebook to pretend she's paying attention.

Since there was no indication given that she wasn't going to wait around after class, Quinn is shocked and more than a little pissed off that Santana packs up and stalks out of the room without a word or even a glance back, quickly disappearing from sight before Quinn's even out of her seat. She's long gone by the time Quinn stumbles into the hallway, half of her belongings clutched to her chest and unzipped back hanging halfway down her arm.

Quinn's about ready to scream until she spots a familiar tall football player on the other side of the hallway, rummaging through his locker. "Finn," she taps him on the back urgently, causing him to jump and spin around, eyeing her nervously, "have you seen Santana?" he immediately relaxes and shakes his head.

"Nope, sorry," she sighs and lets her shoulders droop, guessing she'll have to catch up with the other Cheerio at a later point in the day. "So," Finn rocks from foot to foot, causing her to give him a funny look, "how are you?" he asks after a minute.

Rolling her eyes she replied over her shoulder as she walks away, "fine."

She doesn't manage to find Santana before her next class, or after, or during lunch. It isn't until she's on her way to fourth period that she spot the other girl loitering suspiciously around one of the emergency exits like she's about ready to bolt. Weaving her way through the masses, she jogs up to Santana and grabs her around the arm, tugging her behind without giving her a chance to protest or fight back. She shoves her into an empty classroom and slams the door shut behind them, standing firmly in front of it with her arms crossed.

"What the hell?" Santana demands, throwing her bag down and fixing Quinn with another deadly glare.

"What's your problem?" Quinn demands, and, for a second, Santana is confused.

"_My _problem?" she asks, her voice raising, "you're the one shoving me into empty class rooms! I'm not going to make out with you, if that's what you want so get your crazy, hormonal, sex-deprived, ass out of my way!" she goes to take a step forward, but Quinn shoves her back.

Quinn shakes her head, wearily eyeing Santana's hands as they ball up into fists. "No," she insists firmly, looking her in the eye again, "you need some sense knocked into you, and if I have to hit you to do that, I will."

"Puh-lease, Fabray," Santana folded her arms across her chest, "Do you think you scare me?"

"Don't you see how you're acting?" Quinn demanded, Santana shook her head, "Pushing everyone away, lashing out, skipping class, getting into fights? Figgins isn't going to put up with much more of this, and Coach Sylvester can only get you out of so much, you're going to get suspended at this rate." When Santana still doesn't react, she continues, "everyone is worried about you!" still nothing, "especially Brittany."

Santana throws her hands up, "is that what this is about? Fuck you. Fuck 'everyone'! I'm fucking fine. I'm just sick of everyone hovering all over me all the god damn time! Is it too much to ask to be left alone? You get to be fine, why don't I?"

Quinn sighed, her anger failing. She could see the fear, the tiny quiver in Santana's lower lip, the way she couldn't _quite _pull of her signature glare right while she was arguing. "I'm _not _fine, Santana, that's the point," she explained quietly. "I can't even go into the math wing yet without having a panic attack. But I'm getting better, because I'm _talking _to people. I'm letting people help me.

Santana scoffed loudly at that, "I don't' _need _anybody's help."

"That's bull and you know it!" any pity she was feeling for the other girl jumped right out the window.

"Just because some psycho held a gun to my head doesn't mean I have to be a hot mess all of a sudden," then she shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head, "it's no big deal, ok?"

Quinn wanted to slap her upside the head, take her by the collar of her letterman jacket and shake her until her head spun. "You could've died, Santana. Don't you get that? The Sanders _planned _to kill me. He would've killed you, and Brittany too, if he had had the chance. It's ok to be upset over something like that."

"Well," there was a slight hesitation, "I'm not."

"Why not?" Quinn challenged. "I still break down into tears sometimes. I cried half of yesterday, if Rachel hadn't been-"

"Oh god!" Santana made a great show of slapping her hands over her ears, "I do _not _want to hear about how you and the midget are all buddy-buddy all of a sudden!"

Quinn rolled her eyes, speaking slowly through gritted teeth, "the point is-"

"The point is," Santana mocked, "that I just want to be left alone." She took a menacing step forward, jabbing a single finger into Quinn's chest, "so back the fuck off, Fabray, before I knock your teeth in."

Not exactly the conversation she'd planned on having, Quinn watched Santana storm out as Mr. Schuester walked in. It was only then she'd realized they'd stumbled into his classroom. "Hey, Quinn," he greeted, still watching Santana's retreating form, "is everything ok?" he asked, gesturing over his shoulder, towards the door, Quinn just shrugged. Mr. Schue sighed, nodding his head sadly. "How are you holding up?" Quinn bites her tongue, maybe Santana had been on to something after all.

"I'm managing," she replies evenly with a small smile, "thanks, I'll see you at Glee practice." She walks out of the room with the intent of hunting Santana down again. Finding her again proves to be rather difficult, and Quinn doesn't understand why until Puck lets her know he saw Santana shimmying out of one of the bathroom windows during fourth period. Santana skips the next day, and, on with no sign from her on Wednesday, Quinn's about ready to commit murder.

* * *

**_A/N: _**_A super awesome secret surprise that I didn't even plan/realize until I upload this? This is the longest chapter yet... kind of by a lot. I don't know if I should say 'whoops' or 'yay' so I will say... 'whaay'?_


	22. Chapter 22

**_A/N: _**_Guess what! Guess what! I FIXED MY COMPUTER! Yup. All by myself too! Of course, it took forever, and I didn't really know what I was doing, and I'm lucky I didn't electrocute myself, and I'm now a linux user, which I don't quite understand, but... yeeeeah- I'M BACK EITHER WAY! I'm very excited, can you tell? Anyways, how do you all feel about an extra bonus chapter? I hope good. BECAUSE- while I was re-outling what there's left to cover/what we've already covered, I realized I'd neglected to fix a very important plot-gap that I'd left. Of course... nobody pointed it out to me, so maybe it's really not that big of a deal? But, even if it wasn't originally, I decided to rectify my mistake in the most dramatic way possible (in this previously said extra special bonus chapter), to *make* it a big deal! (insert: evil laugh) Yes, I'm enjoying being back and with unlimited typing capabilities very much. _

_**Official Countdown:**_ _THREE chapters left __(not__ including this one)_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

On Wednesday morning Santana was still missing, Brittany was still miserable, Quinn was even more pissed, and nobody in Glee knew what to do.

At first Quinn couldn't believe that Santana would have the nerve to skip two days in a row when she first discovered her absence that morning. _Especially _after she'd specifically told the other girl how worried everyone was about her on Monday. She'd thought she'd actually gotten through to the other girl, at least a little bit. Apparently not. But, the more Quinn thought about it, the more she figured it actually made sense. Santana was _the _most selfish person she knew. So, _of course_ she wouldn't care how her actions were affecting everyone around her. She was probably getting some perverse pleasure out of making them all worry.

From her left, Rachel suddenly nudged her shoulder, bringing her out of her silent fume against the missing Cheerio. Looking over, she watched as Rachel jerked her head towards the other side of the room and quickly turned her head to follow the gesture. Brittany had her head down on her desk and was staring unblinkingly at the wall to her side while their teacher drone on about some war. Quinn wasn't quite sure which was, she honestly hadn't been paying attention. Again. But she would just get the notes from Rachel later, and she was more worried about Brittany than her history grade anyways- the girl had been like that all period after all. And all day, according to what the other glee kids told her.

Sighing, Quinn shared a look with Rachel, shaking her head. Turning to check the time on the clock, she was thankful to find that there were just minutes left until the period was over. That meant there was just one class left for the day, which she now studied in the library with the tutor the school had gotten her. Of course, it was still going to be torture and would drag on forever, but after she'd be free to go home and pass out into the blissful nothingness of an afternoon nap until dinner time.

"What are we going to do about her?" Rachel asked in a quiet whisper, causing Quinn to turn and look over at Brittany again.

"There's nothing we _can _do," Quinn admitted after a long moment, tilting her head closer to Rachel's and keeping her voice low, "until Santana comes back to school, I'm afraid Britt's going to stay like that. She doesn't understand why Santana's not talking to her, she thinks she's mad at her."

Rachel huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, "_I _don't understand why Santana's not talking to her, they're best friends! Shut out the rest of us, fine, but Brittany? That doesn't make sense."

Quinn agreed that Santana was bringing her whole avoiding the problem to fix the problem thing to a whole new, and probably unhealthy, level. But she also couldn't help but feel that she somehow understood where the other girl was coming from, at least somewhat. But she had no way to explain that feeling to Rachel, so she simply nodded her head and continued to count the seconds until class was over.

When the bell finally rang, Rachel got up and hurried to her next class on the opposite side of the school with a quick goodbye and one last worried glance in Brittany's direction.

Quinn took her time packing up her stuff, waiting for Brittany to do the same and then waiting for her by the door. They walked to Brittany's next class together in silence until they met Mike at the door. First the entire glee club was tiptoeing around _her_, then Santana, and now it had finally spread to Brittany too. Nobody knew what to do or say, so they just hovered awkwardly around. Quinn had hated it when the others had started doing it to her, but now she was doing it to Brittany too and couldn't help but feel a little guilty. But Brittany didn't seem to notice either way, so Quinn simply patted the other girl on the back and left her under Mike's supervision.

Brittany smiled at Mike, said hello, and then went to her assigned seat at the front of the class. Taking the one directly behind her, Mike leaned forward to ask how her day was going, not really expecting an answer and surprised when she actually gave one. Just when Mike thought she was actually perking up, the bell for the start of class rang and she turned and looked around the room, eyes falling on a single empty desk at the back. A dark shadow fell over her face and she fell silent again.

When her math tutor finally let her go from their lesson, three minutes and forty-two seconds after the final bell, not that she'd been counting, of course, Quinn couldn't be happier or more excited to leave school. Pulling out her phone, she turned it back on so she could call her mother for a ride, and was surprised to see 8 missed calls flashing across her screen. Staring at it in shock for a moment, she actually jumped and nearly dropped her phone when it let out a shrill ring while she was still looking at it.

Automatically flipping the cover up, she brought it to her ear, clearing her voice. "Hello?" she asked.

"Quinn Fabray?" a male voice asked on the other end.

"Yes," she glanced around the quickly clearing hallways, "this is her."

"My name is Eric Schlemiel, I'm one of the police officer working your case, do you remember me?" he asks.

Quinn thought back for a moment, there were truthfully a lot of officers working her case, she'd only met a few, but something about his name stuck. Suddenly, the image of a shaggy blond head floods into her mind. "Yes," she nods, "you found me."

"Oh, good," he sounded genuinely relieved but hesitated to continue from there. A twisting ball of worry suddenly started to grow in her stomach when his silence stretched on.

"Can I d-do something for you?" she asked nervously.

There was an audible breath of air, "it's about the whereabouts of Mr. Sanders."

"Coach!" Quinn called as she burst through the double doors to the gymnasium. Coach Sylvester was standing on the other side of the room, screaming at the rest of the Cheerios through her megaphone. As Quinn jogged along the edge of the gym, even she had to admit that they _did _look a little sloppy. Of course, her eyes scanned the pyramid again, they _were _also missing their best three Cheerios. Brittany was nowhere to be seen.

"Q!" Coach greeted as she approached, "I hope this means you're finally ready to rejoin the ranks of champions? From what I understand you're down to two panic attacks a day, that's less then some of my Cheerios."

Quinn frowned, shaking her head, still watching the other Cheerios as they dismounted. One girl fainted, but it was hardly an unfamiliar sight, she she just shook her head again and looked back at Coach, "No, I- where's Brittany?"

"I sent her home," she replied out of the corner of her mouth, eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the team's every move, "she couldn't dance, and her sad puppy dog face was giving me indigestion." She looked down at Quinn then, who was just staring back up at her with her mouth hanging slightly open, at an utter loss for words. "_So _I told her that leprechauns had stolen her talent and that she had to go find it before she could come back. I also suggested that she might start her search in the hair of one Will Schuester, and then to enlist the help of Lopez if she wasn't successful."

Quinn nods her understanding and quickly turns around, running back out of the gym. There's the familiar shriek of someone falling and Coach picking up her megaphone and screaming profanities again as the doors swing shut behind her. Glancing back over her shoulder, she doesn't see where she's headed and barrels straight into Puck, who had been loitering nearby.

"What the hell?" he yelled, jumping back with his fists raised without looking over to see who'd knocked into him. He was surprised to find a mess of blond hair and a Cheerios uniform. "Quinn? What the f-" he glanced around the part of the school they were in and back towards the door she'd just burst through, "are you back on the Cheerios?" Quinn couldn't be sure, but it sounded like there was a little bit of distate in his voice and a lot of worry. But she didn't really have time to be wor rying about something like that right then anyways.

"Did you see Brittany go by? Coach sent her home and I really need to talk to her," she explained quickly, "she never answers her phone, and Santana isn't picking up right now either, I've called her three times."

Puck shrugged his shoulders, "I haven't seen either of them all day. Was Santana even in?" she shook her head. "Oh, well, I haven't seen Britt either."

"If you see her on the way out will you tell her to call me? I'm going to check the locker room to see if she if maybe she's still here. If not I'll just go to her house," she mumbled the last bit to herself and then walked away without waiting for Puck to answer.

Puck watched Quinn run off down the hallway curiously, wondering briefly if he should maybe follow her to figure out what was going on, and tempted by the girl's locker room, but his phone vibrated loudly from his pocket before he was able to make up his mind. Annoyed, he pulled it out and opened it without looking. "WHAT?" he demanded to the person on the other end, visibly wincing and immediately throwing his phone away from his eat at arms length when his mother's voice began screaming at him through the tiny speakers. Once he was sure she'd calmed down a little bit, he pressed the phone to his ear again and almost immediately groaned.

"But I've got stuff to do!" he complained, throwing his free hand up in the air, but turning around and heading in the opposite direction he'd just come from anyway. "Can't I go later?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"Noah Puckerman!" her voice is shrill again and he jumps, "so help me, you will go pick your sister up from school, _right now, _or I will-"

He rushes to agree, cutting off her imminent threat, but doesn't even bother pretendingf to sound happy about agreeing to doing it, "ok, ok," he mumbled in acquisition, but she continued, "OK, I SAID! I'LL FUCKING DO IT!"

Fifteen minutes, and one long lecture about proper language later, Puck is pulling his pickup truck to the side of the road across the street from the middle school's front entrance, where he's supposed to pick his sister up from after school art camp, or club, or whatever the hell it was that she was doing that prevented her from taking the bus like a normal child. Struggling with his seatbelt, he lets it fly back over his shoulder, hardly listening to the metal on metal clash that means there will probably be another scratch on the car. Kicking the door open, he stomps out and slams it again behind him, automatically shoving his hands into his pockets against the cold, only to realize he'd forgotten his keys and wallet inside. Groaning, he turned around and threw open the door again.

Muttering under his breath and finally headed towards the school, he almost doesn't notice the all too familiar figure sitting with her knees pulled in on top of the hood of the shiny black car parked in front of his rusty truck. He doesn't immediately recognize her out of uniform and almost walks right by. She's sporting an oversized sweatshirt that he thinks might've been his at one point, although he can't remember giving it to her, some dark skinny jeans, boots, and a hat balanced precariously atop her head that's probably not doing much against the cold. Not that she seems the least bit bothered by the cold. Or anything, for that matter, she's just staring forlornly at the kids running around the playground across the street.

"You look like a pedophile, Santana," he chuckles slightly, "somebody is going to call the cops on you if you keep that up." She shoots a quick glare in his direction, but it's lacking any real malice. She doesnt' say anything either and is soon looking back at the playground again. Puck's grin falls off his face and he becomes worried. "Seriously dude," he approaches her car and leans cautiously back on the hood next to her, crossing his arms over his chest, "what's with you?"

She glances at him once more, so he knows she's heard him, but she remains quiet for a long time, much longer then he'd like. She looks confused and then looks away from the playground and down at her own hands, clutched together and fingertips turning pink. He's just about to prob her again when she opens her mouth. "I don't know what to do," she admits quietly and like it's the hardest thing in the world to say.

Puck scoffed loudly, "first you should get back inside your car or someplace warm, it's fucking freezing out here!" he exclaimed, she turned her head slight to look at him. "For real, I think my nads are going to fall off,' he doesn't earn so much as a smirk and he sighs, leaning back against the car again. "About what?" he asks reluctantly.

"About anything," she shrugs and he groans, she's certainly not making this whole _caring _thing easy. After another painfully quiet second, she begins to fidget and Puck tilts his head slightly to be able to watch her out of the corner of his eye. She slowly inches closer to the edge of the hood where he's leaning, stopping once she's right beside him. He doesn't say anything and looks away again like he hadn't been watching. After another second her head is resting against his shoulder.

"You really should go inside," he sighed, noting her shivering and moving to hopefully provide a little more warmth.

Santana shakes her head stubbornly, clutching her numb fingers tighter together, "I'm waiting."

"For what?" he's met with silence. Several more cars pull up and then leave again, and the group of kids still on the playground was dwindling to just a few in thick snowpants, but going inside to get his sister was only at the back of his mind anymore, she could wait a little longer. "You haven't been to school in a few days," he doesn't pose it as a question, but she nods slightly against his shoulder anyway. He hesitates before continuing, "Britt's a mess without you. In case you were wondering." He feels her nod against him again, "you should talk to her."

She sits up, pulling away completely and he feels a rush of cold against where she'd been leaning. "I-" he voice breaks and he turns just in time to see the panic flash across her face before she turns away so that he can't see her at all, "I can't."

"Why the hell not?" Puck huffs, standing up and walking to stand around on the other side of her, his arms crossed and looking her directly in the eye. He does his best to ignore the look on her face and the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "You've never had any problem talking before. You open your mouth and words fall out: blah, blah, blah, you do it all the time, it's simple!"

Something close to rage flashed across her face and she slid off the car, an angry blush coloring both of her cheeks. "You wouldn't understand, ok?" she shouted, walking away from him.

He hopped forward to follow her around the car. "Well, maybe that's because _somebody's _an emotional retard!" he shouted right back, earning a harsh look from the man walking with his son along the sidewalk, Puck made a face but otherwise ignored him, making a second lap around the car on Santana's heels.

"That's really rich," Santana spat, stopping and spinning on her heel, giving him a disgusted and unimpressed once over, "coming from Ohio's biggest twelve year old, it really means a lot."

Unable to think of a comeback to that, he gave it to her. Holding his hands up in surrender, he nodded his head and took a step back. Triumphant, she almost smiled. Almost. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and leaned against her car door, looking up at him expectantly. Tempted to tell her to go inside again, he shook his head and sighed. "You should just talk to her," he insisted quietly.

Her shoulders drooped, "I know."

"Like tonight," he stated firmly, she nodded. "I'm serious, Lopez, if you don't call her I'm going to kick your tight little ass,"

Santana smirked a tiny bit, stepping away from her car to dish through her pockets for the keys. "Alright," she agreed distractedly, "I'll talk to her." Puck didn't look convinced.

"I'm going to call you after dinner to make sure," he threatened, jabbing her in the shoulder with his finger, she swatted his hand away, "if you don't pick up I'm coming over." She rolled her eyes and decided it was best to just ignore him now. Finding her keys in her sweatshirt's pouch, she turned around and shoved them into the lock. "I'll seduce your mom," he finally threatened.

She turned around to slug him but he was already half running towards the school. "Hey!" she called, he stopped in the middle of the street and looked at her, she smiled, "thanks." He didn't hear her over the wind, but he nodded and smiled back anyway.

Having been forced to cook dinner himself, consequently burning it, and having to order Chinese for him and Sarah, it was nearly eight o'clock by the time he got around to texting Santana. _"Well did u tlk 2 her?" _

Ten minutes later he sent her another text, _"Ignoring me isn't going 2 do anything"_

"_Helloooooooooo?"_

"_Dude! Stop being a pussy!" _

He sent close to fifteen more texts of similar content and continued to get zero response over the next hours. Sighing, he sat up and ran his hand over his face and dialed her phone number. Her voicemail picked up after the eight ring. He cursed, "answer your god damn phone!"

"_I don't care if you tlked 2 her or wht, jus call me back." _He waited but still never got a response, so he called her again. "I mean it, S, if you don't call me back in the next five minutes, I'm going to call your fucking house, I don't care if it's ten o'clock and everyone is sleeping!"

"Ok, so I just realized I don't know your new house number," he sighed in the next message, "but I _will _call Brittany to get it, don't test me!"

"This isn't fucking funny anymore, Lopez! I have your number, I'm calling your house!" He waited longer then he said he would, but she still never answered. She either wasn't getting his messages or was stubborn as hell, he assumed she was just being stubborn as hell.

Picking up his phone one last time, he dialed the number he had written on the cover of the science book sitting on his desk a few minutes earlier and waited for the phoneline to dial. The other end picked up before the first ring even ended. "Hello? Hello?" Puck hesitated to answer, confused as to who he was talking to. "Santana? Santana, honey, is that you?"

"Mrs. Lopez?" he finally managed to guess. The other end was quiet for a moment, apparently as confused as he had been.

"Noah? Oh! Hello, dear," she sounded nervous and jittery, he heard yelling in the background and sat up, "how are you? Is school good?"

He cleared his throat, " Is something wrong, Mrs. Lopez?"

"You haven't seen Santana lately by any chance, have you, Dear?" she asked.

"Mrs. Lopez?" he pressed.

There was another shout from the other end of the phone, but he heard her sigh, "Santana's missing."


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N: ***zombie noise* - that's me rising from the depths of the internet-less hell which is my grandparent's house. Normally I get online at least a few times while I'm there visiting because my aunt (who lives next door to them) has access, but her internet was broken... she asked me to fix it and I failed- just because I'm a "young adult" doesn't mean I'm not technologically challenged too, ok? But, good news! This update is _super _long (longest yet)!  
_

_**Official Countdown: **this... just isn't going to exist anymore, alright? Because I don't know what I'm doing. As of right now there are (again) three chapters (planned to be) left. But, obviously, this changes all the time. I _really _s__uck at planning apparently :\  
_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Twenty-three **

Quinn flung her cellphone and the rest of her belongings onto her bed before falling into an unceremonious heap on the floor, drawing her knees in and covering her face with her hands. She counted her breaths and did her best to calm down, but it was no good. Her hands started to shake and she shut her eyes tightly, trying to drown out the pounding in her ears. Neither Brittany or Santana were answering their phones, and Brittany hadn't been at her house when Quinn stopped by after school. No one had been. That fact worried her even more, Brittany's dad, at least, should have been home. But the house was empty.

Just like hers. Not that _that _was anything new. The first few days after she'd gotten home from the hospital her mother had actually stuck around. Judy hovered almost as much as a real parent would, but then she must've assumed Quinn was doing fine when she decided to go back to school, because she quickly returned to her old ways. Going out to only God knew where, doing not even God wanted to know what.

It was only times like when her heart was racing well faster than was healthy that she wished her mother actually _cared_.

Just when the black and white spots started to dance in front of her eyes, her cell phone let out a loud shrill, causing her to jump and quickly climbing to her feet, scrambling through the mess on her bed for the noisey object. She found it under a bunch of papers that had spilled out of her bag and flipped it open just before the last ring.

"Hello, Quinn,"a cheerfully familiar voice greeted immediately.

Quinn actually felt herself smile a little bit, and she could suddenly almost breath again. "Rachel, hi."

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," Rachel began pleasantly, but then there was a pause that left Quinn puzzled, "not that I expect you to be doing poorly, or- or" Rachel began to stutter and Quinn laughed out loud so hard that her stomach began to hurt and she had to roll over onto her side to get some relief, "Quinn?" Rachel asked, but she couldn't stop.

When Quinn's laughter turned borderline hysterical, Rachel became worried. She glanced around Finn's cowboy room, unsure of what to say. Finn was downstairs with Kurt getting some snacks together before they started studying, not that he would probably be particularly helpful, but sometimes just having him around helped. Kurt was friends with Quinn though, so she figured he might know how to help. Getting up from Finn's bed, she headed towards the stairs, but found herself hesitating by the door. As far as she knew, Quinn hadn't reached out to any of the boys since the incident, not even Kurt, and probably not any of the girls either. Quinn had only reached out to _her_. And being Quinn's confidant didn't automatically give her the right to go spilling Quinn's problems to the other, even if she didn't know how to help. Turning back around, she returned to the bed and sat down, waiting.

Quinn had rolled onto her stomach, face buried in her comforter as sobs violently wracked her entire body. As awkward as it was, and as much as it actually hurt her wrist, she kept her phone pressed firmly to hear ear, hanging on to Rachel's every word attempting to calm her down like they were the last things in the world. Which they pretty much felt like. The few seconds Rachel paused left Quinn's head foggy and sent her heart racing. Just a few seconds had Quinn feeling like she was all alone and in that basement again. The flash of memory had her crying harder, she couldn't stop the tears and she couldn't breath. She was afraid to open her eyes and see the wooden rafters over her head where her ceiling should be if she rolled to her side to look around her room.

It was too much and Rachel was the only thing keeping her tied down and not spinning out of control.

"Quinn, please, listen to me," Rachel begged, "you're going to be ok, do you hear me? You're ok. You're at home!" she was up on her knees, both hands wrapped around her phone so tight that her knuckles were turning white. She had her phone pressed as hard against the side of her face that she could manage, as if it would bring her closer to Quinn, to prove to the blonde that she wasn't alone. They'd been down this road multiple times before, but it had never been so... utterly frightening. She was halfway across town and unable to do anything. "I'm here, Quinn, I promise. You're alright."

Finn lead the way up stairs with Kurt trailing just steps behind him. Kurt held three glasses and a pitcher of cool-aid while Finn was trying to balance the large trap of carefully organized cheese samples that Kurt had spent the better part of an hour putting together in the kitchen. The cool-aid was grape. The closest thing to wine that they were legally allowed to drink, which was Finn's idea.

They both fell silent when they walked back into Finn's room. Rachel was on the floor, still on her knees, her hair a mess from grabbing at it, her one hand twisted up in the blankets that she'd pulled off the bed and tears streaming down her face. The cheese platter fell to the floor with a clatter, and it took Kurt an amount of will power he didn't know he had to not drop the cool-aid to.

"Oh my God," Kurt gaped, the first to find his voice, "what in the world happened to you?" he held back a snarky follow up comment, but only just barely. Finn was hovering over her crumpled form, his hands outstretched and mouth hanging open. Kurt still had no idea what was going on, or what had gone on, but when she looked up at him, her phone to her eat, she had the most helpless and lost look on her face that Kurt actually felt sorry for her for probably only the second time since knowing her.

Rachel placed a trembling hand over the end of her phone. "It's Quinn," her voice was small when she looked up to Finn. His eyes went wide and he immediately turned to look at Kurt, who pressed his lips firmly together in a threatening line. Finn hastily nodded.

"We'll give you a ride to her house," he didn't leave room for her to try and argue.

She turned back to her phone, "Quinn?" there was no discernible response, "I'm coming, ok? Just hold on."

Quinn's face was puffy and red, she didn't have to look in the mirror, she could feel it. And she hated herself. While staring at her perfectly normal ceiling, the same exact ceiling she'd been looking at since she was a baby, she did an internal checklist. Her head was no longer spinning, and she didn't think she was about to have a heart attack anymore, and even though her chest was still kind of heaving, she was finally able to actually breath again. Everything was fine. Like it'd never happened. Like she wasn't convinced she was about to die any seconds for almost twenty minutes straight.

Her doorbell rang once, then twice. Her phone rang soon after that. She didn't answer either. She knew it was Rachel, and she knew Rachel would be worried if she didn't respond to one or the other very soon, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She was just so tired.

Letting out a deep breath, her hands resting on her still aching stomach, she let her eyes drift shut for just a second. But when she opened them again Rachel was staring down at her with a glass of water in her hand and the light coming in from outside was noticeably dimmer. Shooting up right, she tried to ignore the pain that ripped through her abdomen, but the grimace gave her away. Rachel silently held out the glass and two white pills.

"Hi," she smiled when Quinn finished the water and set down the empty glass. Quinn refused to meet her gaze and kept her eyes on her folded hands, only acknowledging her with a slight nod of her head. "Kurt knew where you kept your hide-a-key," she explained an awkward silence later. Quinn nodded again. Rachel hesitated, Quinn was paler than normal, but otherwise seemed ok now. "I-I hope you don't mind," she looked down at the comforter, Quinn chanced a glance up at her friend, "I wanted to make sure you were ok, and your mother wasn't home."

Quinn looked towards her alarm clock, "she should be home soon."

It was a lie, but, as if on cue, the front door downstairs was thrown open and her mother was calling up the stairs. "Quinn, dear!" Rachel chose to ignore the surprised look on Quinn's face, "I'm about to start dinner, are you hungry."

Excusing herself, Quinn carefully climbed onto shaky legs and quickly made her way out of the room, not even bothering to ask if Rachel wanted to stay for dinner. She was. No choice given. Rachel just smiled and waited for her to come back.

…

Puck felt like the floor had dropped out from under his feet when he asked Mrs. Lopez to repeat what she'd said just before she started talking about the police. "Santana is missing," the words echoed in his head, "you haven't seen her today, by any chance, have you?" she sounded desperate and he felt incredibly guily. Like maybe it was somehow his fault that she was suddenly gone. He thought back to the street in front of the school. She'd seemed fine to him.

"No," he lied surely, shaking his head for good affect. "No, I- she-" even he wasn't dumb enough to blab to Santana's folks that she'd been skipping. He knew them, they never would've let her stay home, she had to have been sneaking all week. "I just hadn't talked to her in a while," he explained smoothly, finding his groove and falling effortless into it, "and she wasn't answering her phone, so I-"

He had a whole story ready to roll off his tongue, but Mrs. Lopez cut him off. "I've been trying to call her all night. She was supposed to be home for dinner. She _promised _to be home. With everything that's happened," her voice choked off, "I'm afraid something might've-"

She cut off and Puck was surprised to hear the gruff voice of _Mr. _Lopez, "thank you for calling, Noah. If you hear from our daughter, please be sure to let us know." Puck was greeted with a dead dial tone seconds later. Blinking his thoughts straight and shaking his head clear, he hung up and started to dial again, blurting out that Santana was missing before he even said hello.

Rachel watched Quinn's face pale back to that sickly shade of white that she'd only just managed to get rid of a few hours earlier. "What do you mean?" Quinn's voice was deadly even. Images of Quinn thrashing on the floor as Rachel tried to calm her conflicted with the absolutely still girl sitting beside Rachel now, she swallowed. "That isn't," Quinn stopped to swallow the lump in her throat. "They're sure?"

"Of course they're sure!" Puck yelled, Quinn flinched. "You know Santana," he insisted, "she's a pain in the ass, but she'd never lie to her parents- not to her dad."

Quinn did know. Santana's parents were nice and loving people, but they'd put the fear of god into all of their children. "You're right. What are they doing?" Rachel bounced in her seat, dying to know what was going on, but Quinn motioned for her to wait.

"They've called the cops and her brothers are out looking, but they have no idea where she went," he sighed, "I _just _saw her-"

She jumped in, physically standing up from the table and walking aimlessly away. "When? Where? I've been trying to reach her all day."

"I was picking up my sister after school, Santana was there, just sitting." Puck might not have had any idea, but Quinn knew. Emily was a grade younger than Sarah, they went to the same school. Santana was looking for Emily, but it didn't make any sense. She knew the two were close, Santana was close with all of Brittany's family, but if she wanted to see the girl bad enough to stake out the school, she should be willing to talk with Brittany to see the girl too, it wasn't like they didn't live right next door to each other, after all.

"It doesn't make sense," Quinn whispered to herself, shaking her head.

"I know," Puck agreed solemnly, "she wouldn't tell me what she was doing." Quinn didn't bother explaining. "I'm babysitting now," he suddenly told her, "but as soon as my mom gets home I'm going to go out looking."

Quinn headed towards the front door, "Rachel and I will go out now, call the others?"

Puck agreed and they hung up. Quinn pulled on her left shoe and turned around, looking for the matching pair when she saw Rachel and her mother hovering at the entrance to the dining room, Rachel raised her eyebrows in question.

"Santana's gone missing, the police are out looking for her," Rachel gasped, but her mother looked unmoved.

"I'll go get my coat, we should organize a search party immediately. Does anybody know her last known location?" Quinn shook her head and Rachel took off upstairs.

Quinn turned her gaze back towards the ground, looking for her right shoe, when her mother spoke up. "You're not going out." She opened her mouth to argue, but Judy shook her head. "Quinn," she snapped sharply, "it's after nine o'clock. You're not going out."

"But, mom," Quinn's mouth was hanging open, Rachel was standing awkwardly on the bottom step, watching with both of their coats clutched to her chest. "Santana is _missing,_" she tried to emphasis, "nobody knows where she is. She could be in trouble. Mr. Sanders-"

"Mr. Sanders is in jail, Quinn," her mother finished coldly, "I heard the message."

"But _Santana _doesn't know that!" she insisted.

Her mother turned around, "you're not going," she repeated, "and that's final."

Quinn watched her go and seethed. Her fists clenched, she was barely able to hold in all of her words and feelings about hatred, abandonment, betrayal. All the things you're not supposed to feel about your mother, she felt. Rachel stepped down from the last stair with a sympathetic look, hanging Quinn's coat off the edge of the banister. "I'm still going to go out looking," she assured quietly, glancing nervously in the direction of the kitchen, Quinn narrowed her gaze in the same, "I'll let you know if we find anything."

...

It was a quarter passed eleven and Puck was pacing his room furiously, glancing anxiously out the window every few seconds and swearing out loud every time he saw that the driveway was still empty. His mother wasn't back from her double-shift at work yet, and probably wouldn't be until close to two. This happened almost twice a week, so he didn't know why he was so surprised every time he turned to look. Normally he didn't mind watching Sarah for his mom, especially on a Wednesday night. After all, what else was there to do on a Wednesday, except maybe homework? Plus, he got paid. So, normally, it wasn't a big deal. He'd bitch and moan like it was nobody's business, but in the end he'd do it and was always secretly happy to be helping out. It proved he wasn't a deadbeat, after all.

But _this _particular Wednesday was far from normal, one of his best friends was missing, and there was something that he would _much _rather be doing than sitting on his but in his room, namely, looking for her. He looked out the window again. Sarah had been asleep for the last two hours, he knew because he'd checked on her three times, people around him seemed to be disappearing lately, so it didn't hurt to be careful. But, he _knew _he was be paranoid, so he was really tempted to just stuff his pillows under his blanket, climb out his window, and just go. But, he'd be damned if his mother got home and decided to check his room before going to bed, so he stayed put. It wasn't because he didn't want to be out there, it was because he wanted to live to maybe be able to help tomorrow, and so he could personally kick Santana's ass when they did find her.

Glancing down at his phone, his stomach dropped a little more when he saw that there were still no new messages, from Santana or anybody else. Mike and Matt were out looking for her together, as were Mercedes and Kurt on the other side of town. Despite her protests, Quinn was stuck at home, her mom wouldn't let her go, so she was keeping tabs with everybody who _was _out and was relaying the events back to him. She hadn't called him back yet, but she promised to let him know if- no, as soon as, they found anything. So far, they hadn't.

Nobody had found anything, and he wasn't out there helping. "This is so un-fucking-fair!" he looked around for something to grab, but almost everything he didn't care about had already been smashed against the wall. Grabbing the nearest book he could reach, he flung it across the room. It fluttered to the ground before connecting with anything. Chest still heaving, he collapsed backwards onto his bed with a bounce. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and began dialing.

"Still up?" he asked in lieu of a greeting.

Quinn was sitting at her kitchen table with her head in her hands. "The others are headed in for the night," she explained with a sigh, knowing immediately his reason for calling. It'd only been twenty minutes since they'd last hung up after all.

"Why?" he demanded, "it isn't even that late!"

"It's almost _midnight_ and we have school tomorrow," she reminded him with more patience than he deserved after calling her obsessively for the last three hours. "Plus, they're parents called them in. They don't have much of a choice."

"Those fuckers!" he sat up and not caring about how loud he was, "how can they care about school right now? Santana's probably tied up in the back of a pickup truck and halfway out of state by now! They _have _to keep looking!"

Quinn would've thought his worry was endearing if she wasn't so tired and about to fall asleep at the table. She wasn't out looking, but she'd had a long ass, stressful, about to die, day, had talked to everybody in glee, called half of the Cheerio, and had been keeping a play-by-play going between Mercedes and Kurt and Puck all night. She was just about ready for bed. She could hear Puck's heavy breathing through the phone and shook her head.

"We didn't look for you," he explained quietly after they'd both been silent for a while, "we can't make the same mistake twice. If I wasn't here with Sarah-"

She groaned, "Noah-"

"No, Quinn!" he overlooked the fact that she used his first name and pressed urgently on, "it's not ok! You were pissed when you found out that we didn't look for you, and you were right. We were too fucking wrapped up in our own little worlds to do it, and look how _that _turned out! We can't do that again."

"Look," she ran her hand across her face, "I have to go, it's late. If my mom comes downstairs and sees I'm still awake, she'll have a fit. I'll see you in school tomorrow?"

He snorted, sitting back down on the edge of his mattress, "I'm going out as soon as my mom gets home."

Quinn stood up from the table and carried her cereal bowl to the sink, balancing the phone between her shoulder and her eat, "like she'll let you."

"I'll sneak out the back if I have to," he argued solemnly.

"Just come to school tomorrow, ok?" she begged, "we'll all figure something out together."

Puck was quiet for a long time, staring out his window. "I'll be late," he finally agreed.

Quinn rolled her eyes and shut off her phone. Still standing over the sink, she glanced up and looked at her reflection in the window, wondering what could possibly be going through Santana's head right then, wherever the hell she was.

The doorbell rang and she groaned, hoping to God that Puck hadn't secretly been on his way over to her house to 'spring her', as he put it, the whole time they were on the phone. He'd talked about doing it earlier, so didn't really put it passed him. Turning off the water and wiping her hands on her pajama bottoms, she turned around and headed for the front foyer, pulling open her front door.

The snow had melted and turned into a miserable drizzling rain, the light from inside the hall barely cut through the night, but she could already see her breath. There were no new cars in her driveway, but standing in front of her soaked, shivering, and huddled with her shoulders hunched forward in littler more than a sweatshirt was Santana. It took Quinn's brain a minute to actually catch up with her eyes and recognize the girl standing on her front step as the missing Cheerio, even thought there was nobody else it could be.

"Oh my god!" she gasped, immediately jumping forward and grabbing Santana around the shoulders, pulling the other girl flush against her and dragging her inside. "What are you doing here? Are you crazy? Santana, you're freezing!" she pulled away then, looking her over, Santana was drenched from head to foot, and now so was the front of her tee shirt. Quinn shook her head, "I have to call your mother and let her know you're here."

She turned away and headed for the kitchen, stopping short and almost tripping over her own feet when Santana called out from behind her. Hand resting on the doorframe to the entrance of the kitchen, she waited. Quinn pressed her lips together and looked back, but Santana didn't say anything else. Her head was tilted towards the floor and her eyes were on the puddle her shoes were making at the entrance. She swallowed, "just-" her voice cracked, "just wait, please?"

"Santana," she sighed, "we have to let her know where you are. She's going crazy with worry. Puck- _everyone _is. The police are even out looking for you."

Santana's shoulders drooped, but she nodded her head after a moment, "ok."

Quinn glanced from where she left her phone on the counter back at Santana. "Do you," she hesitated when Santana looked up hopefully, "do you want to spend the night?" Santana dropped her gaze again and fidgeted in the spot before finally nodding her head. "Alright," Quinn smiled, walking to stand back in front of the other girl who had remained rooted in her spot by the door. "Let's get you changed. Your mom can wait a few more minutes, you're fine." She took Santana's hand, gasping at how cold her fingers were, "you're fine."

* * *

_**A/N: **For those of you who I told that your questions were going to be answered this chapter... uhm, yeah... that's kind of happening next chapter now. Everything that happened in this chapter was like half of a really big epic chapter that I decided needed to be split in half because it was too long and didn't flow right. While I was re-writing this (to make it a proper length and to start/finish at the new spots better), I realized I'd been neglecting poor Quinn and felt bad... and then got (really) carried away. And now I'm too tired to finish the second half/next chapter, because it's like freaken 6:30 in the morning where I am right now and I woke up at 8 yesterday, so... you wouldn't want me writing half awake anyways, my grammar gets even worse and sometimes I don't even type words (but think that I actually do), lol_


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"So," Santana looked up expectantly from where she was drying her hair with an old towel on Quinn's bed when Quinn stepped out of her walk-in closet. Quinn paused, though, and quickly shut her mouth, pursing her lips and placing one hand on her hip while the other balanced the pile of clothes she'd just pulled out for Santana to change in to.

Santana, who was still wet _and _sitting on her bed- which had previously been dry, but no longer appeared to be so. Judging from the wet spot she could see under Santana's feet.

Gritting her teeth and shaking her head to herself, doing her very best to keep her cool, Quinn placed the pajama set down on the dresser beside her and cross both arms in front of her chest. "So," she repeated, "where the _hell _have you been?"

In all honesty, her question came out sharper than she'd intended it to, but Santana didn't appear too fazed by the stab. Instead, she just lowered her gaze and shrugged her shoulders, letting the towel fall over her head completely and keeping her from having to return Quinn's penetrating gaze when she finally answered, "driving around."

"And _what_?" Quinn snapped, taking a threatening step forward. Santana stopped moving the towel over her hair, but didn't remove it from her head, waiting for Quinn to continue in silence. "You just got lost? Forgot to call? Decided it was just better if nobody knew where you were and that it was, what? _Funny _if we all thought you'd been in some horrible accident, or _worse_?"

Santana shook her head slightly but still refused to look up or answer. Her hands, however, started to move faster. Quinn knew she was getting somewhere, getting through to Santana somehow, so she pressed forward. "Santana, your mother called the _police_. She was worried sick. Half of the Cheerios and Glee club went out looking for you until only an hour ago. Brittany-"

"I just ran out of gas, ok?" Santana snapped suddenly, dropping the towel from her head and looking up, "and my phone died." She gestured towards the foot of the bed where her phone was sitting on top of the comforter, inviting Quinn to check. Quinn stalked over and snatched it up without breaking her glare from Santana and pressed the power button. After a minute, she looked down at the still dark screen. Dead, like Santana had said.

"Fine," she set the phone back down, looking up and eyeing Santana's puffy face closely. Santana quickly looked away, rubbing her cheek self-consciously. Quinn sighed. Sitting down on the bed, Quinn leaned forward to try and catch Santana's eye, "well, where's your car?"

Santana hesitated, her eyes flickering to Quinn's face for a second before looking in the most opposite direction that she could. "Um," she made a long thoughtful notice before answering cautiously, her voice laced with regret, "Clarendon? Kind of by that old convenience store, the one that Puck lit on fire last summer."

"Santana!" Quinn smacked Santana's arm, openly staring at her in mild horror with her mouth hanging open, "that's on the other side of town! It's like ten miles from here!"

"Eight and a half," was the only mumbled response she got.

Quinn smacked Santana on the arm again and had good mind to keep going in hopes of knocking _some _sense into her friend, if Santana hadn't actually flinched at the last hit. "It's _snowing_!" she yelled, throwing her hands up over her head instead of slapping her again, "you're going to come down with pneumonia, I can't believe you!" Santana just shrugged her shoulders again, looking down at her hands and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Shaking her head, Quinn grabbed the towel from Santana's lap and marched over to her door, forcibly throwing it down into her hamper without a ord.

"Thanks for letting me stay here," Santana mumbled after Quinn continued to glare at her from the other side of the room. Quinn just sighed, her shoulders drooping immediately.

"Don't mention it," she dismissed softly, waving her hand in the air. "You would do the same thing for me. I _know _it," she added when Santana looked up to protest. "But," Santana raised both of her eyebrows in response to the threat in Quinn's voice, "if you run away again, I _will _kill you. Do you understand?"

Santana felt a small smile twitch at the corner of her lip, the first in what felt like forever. It was so absurd that she let a joke slip out, "if my mother doesn't die first. Quinn could only chuckle in agreement and shake her head. It was unarguably true, after all. Mama Lopez was definitely pissed her only daughter. As relieved as she was that Santana was ok, Santana was still going to have hell to pay for disappearing the way she did when she got home. Santana knew it too. Taking a deep breath, she didn't really want to know for sure, but she had to ask, "what did she say on the phone?"

She had her head tilted down towards her hands again, leaving Quinn blind to her face without any clue to what was going on in her head. "Well," she began thoughtfully, "there was a lot of Spanish that I didn't understand," she swore she heard an almost laugh bit, "and your dad was yelling something I couldn't hear clearly in the background, but they both wanted to drive straight over to get you. I promised your mom I would personally make sure you got home after school tomorrow, so you'd better not run off or do anything else stupid, alright?" Santana slowly nodded her head, "I don't want to face the wrath of Mama Lopez on my own." Santana glanced up as Quinn jabbed a finger in her direction in mock threat. After a moment, Quinn's face softened into a sad smile, "she's just glad you're ok, but she was really worried. We _all _were."

"She's going to _murder _me," Santana groaned, choosing to ignore the uncomfortable sincerity and worry in Quinn's voice, flopping back against the pillows and throwing an arm over her face dramatically instead.

"Nobody is going to murder you," Quinn stated firmly, drawing Santana's fading attention back to her again. Shaking her head, Quinn turned back to her dresser and picked up the second set of pajamas she'd gotten for herself. "I'm going to go shower them, if you're sure you don't want to go first."

Santana shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks for the clothes too," she gestured towards the other pile.

"Whatever," Quinn mumbled offhandedly under her breath when she turned to leave, "just don't forget to change."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Stepping out of the shower, Quinn wrapped a towel around her body and approached the fogged up mirror with caution. Wiping the glass clean with her calm, she actually took a moment to give her reflection a scrutinizing once over for the first time in days. Frowning at what she saw, she reached up to thumb the dark circles forming under her eyes that she swore weren't there before. She just hoped they didn't end up being permanent.

Quinn was happy that Santana was safe and sound. Really, she was. She would've felt absolutely awful if something had happened to her friend- at the same time, she just kind of wished Santana had waited until a decent hour to show up on her doorstep soaking wet. Sighing, Quinn shook her head to herself and turned around to change into new pajamas, the ones she'd had on when Santana arrived balled up in a sopping wet mess on the floor. Her mother would probably complain about the puddle on the carpet in the morning, but she was really too tired to care.

Twisting her dripping hair up in her towel, she turned off the bathroom light and stepped into the much colder hallway. Heading quickly down the dark corridor towards her room, she made sure to tip toe passed her mother's door as silently as she could. Judy was probably knocked out on vodka, but Quinn really didn't want to risk it. By some miracle, she managed to make it to her room with the floorboards creaking only once. She eased open her door and quietly shut it again before turning around.

She was far from pleased, or really surprised, if she were being honest with herself, to find Santana passed out flat on her back and spread across the top of the bedspread. _Still _in her own, very wet, clothes- including her sneakers too. The pajamas Quinn had gotten out for her still laid neatly folded, and obviously forgotten, on the dresser by the door.

Groaning and muttering quietly to herself in a harsh whisper, she decided that having to change her sheets the next day would be worth the few precious hours of sleep she might still be able to get before having to get ready for school if she let Santana off the hook. Turning off her bedroom light, she carefully made her way across the room, narrowly avoiding tripping over her own discarded sneakers and backpack from earlier.

She was beyond relieved to finally be able to get some sleep, but once she arrived safely at the edge of her bed, she made another less than ideal discovery. Somehow, as ridiculously small as she was, Santana was still managing to take up the _entire _bed.

Quinn was so frustrated and tired that she was afraid she might legitimately burst into tears at any second. Letting out a silent breath, she kneeled lightly on the edge of the mattress, looking Santana over and wondering where the best place to start moving her over might be, or if she should just give up and sleep on the floor. Deciding that Santana wasn't really taking up the _whole _bed, just most of it, she wrote off sleeping on the floor. If she could just get Santana's left arm and foot over and out of the way, then there should be plenty of room for the both of them without Quinn having to resort to shoving Santana off the bed- because, really, the floor was really cold and she was not about to sleep there if she could help it.

Gently picking up one of Santana's disgustingly muddy Converse, she moved it, ever so slowly, close to her other foot, and set it back down on the mattress top just as carefully. Santana mumbled something and turned her head to the side, face strained, and causing Quinn's heart to leap into her throat. Quinn held her breath and waited for some sort of explosive response, but it didn't come. Counting to ten, Quinn decided it was safe to keep going when Santana didn't wake up or move again.

Letting her breath out a few seconds later, Quinn inched up towards the head of the bed and took the wrist of Santana's outstretched arm between both of her hands. She'd barely lifted the limp appendage off the bed before it was violently pulled away with a strangled cry. Cue the explosive response she'd been waiting for earlier.

In the darkness, Quinn couldn't exactly see Santana, but she felt the bed bounce as her friend jerked away and sat up in one fluid motion and turned rapidly from side to side taking in little gasps of air and mumbling curses and questions under her breath.

"San-" Quinn was cut off and stopped from reaching out for Santana when she felt both of the other girl's hands press against her shoulders, shoving her roughly away and sending her rolling backwards off the bed with a yelp and a heavy thud.

Head spinning at her sudden reorientation, Quill yelled out again when the lights were suddenly flipped on without warning, leaving her painfully blinded and blinking little white dots. Squeezing her eyes shut against the intrusion, she heard Santana let out a similar noise of discomfort, followed by a second thump on the opposite side of the bed.

"Quinn!" her mother's hoarse and still sleep filled voice assaulted her ears a second later and she groaned in response. "What the _hell _is going on in here?" the older Fabray demanded, stomping further into her daughter's room. Hesitantly, Quinn opened her eyes to find the disapproving glare of her mother boring down at her from above, the outline of her head accented by the still painfully too bright light on the ceiling. "Well," Judy gestured across the bed, where Quinn assumed Santana still hadn't risen from, "care to explain yourself, young lady?"

Judy continued to yell as Quinn heaved herself off of the floor without even offering a hand down to help her daughter up. She yelled even louder when Quinn appeared to ignore her all together and climbed onto her disheveled bed to peer over the other side. Santana had her back pressed against the wall and her knees pulled against her chest, face pressed between them. Quinn couldn't be absolutely positive, but she assumed the violent shaking racking through her body were from only barely concealed sobs.

When Judy became fed up with being ignored, she grabbed Quinn's ankle to pull her back to the side of the bed she was standing on, but Quinn yanked herself away. Standing up and turning to face her mother brashly, Quinn grabbed her mother's sleeve and dragged her into the still dark hallway, ignoring the woman's protests and attempts to pull away until the door was firmly shut behind them, completely eclipsing them in black.

"What is _she _doing here?" Judy demanded coldly, yanking her arm out of her daughter's grasp, "I want her gone, this instant. Do you hear me?"

Quinn felt her eyes drift back to her door, the image of Santana curled up and clutching to herself as she sobbed burned into her brain and not likely to be forgotten any time soon. It was like looking into a distorted mirror showing her own past. While it seemed like weeks since she'd last woken up in that same position herself, she knew it'd only been a matter of days. And, every time she'd woken up in a state like that, she had always wished, so hard, that she'd be wrapped up safe in her mother's comforting arms. Logically, she wasn't sure why she craved it, she'd only been afforded such compassion on a few occasions as a child, so she wasn't really surprised when she never was. That was how she turned to Rachel.

Rachel, who had kept her grounded, and worked with her through all of those horrible memory-nightmares while her mother never took the time. Rachel had kept her sane, and it was only because of her that Quinn hadn't woken up covered in sweat and tears for the last few nights- only because of her that Quinn wasn't still exactly like Santana.

"That girl is trouble, Quinn. I swear. I told you _not _to go out looking for her for a reason, you know. That girl-" Judy made another disapproving noise without finishing the sentence in what most likely would've been an insult.

Just like she herself had been, Quinn knew Santana was hurting and scared, and that she had reached out to Quinn, just like Quinn had reached out to Rachel. Neither case made that much sense, she knew that, but Quinn didn't think that mattered. She wouldn't, couldn't, imagine turning a blind eye to her friend's obvious suffering just because Quinn would and had done the same to her. "Mom?" she asked.

"She was probably just out causing-"

"Mom-"

"-all sorts of trouble this time. Had everyone out and worried for no reason. I know her type, Quinn. I want her out. I don't care where she goes-"

"Mom! Enough!" Quinn snapped. Judy's eyes went so wide that Quinn could actually see them through the dark. She could also make out her mother's mouth, hanging open and moving with words she was trying to say, but not quite able to get out. "Just," Quinn's voice shook as she tried to keep it calm and low. "Just stop, ok? Santana's spending the night. She _needs _me right now," she begged her mother to understand, to, for once, have some form of maternal instincts in her.

"But," Judy smiled gently, trying to look sweet and caring as she reached out for her daughter's arm, "_Quinny, _dear-"

"If you don't like her, fine. I get it. She's difficult, whatever, but I'm not just _kicking _her out. It's the middle of the night," her mother didn't look swayed in the slightest, and it was all she could do not to start shouting again, just as her mother had been doing earlier. "Mother," she sighed, "Santana was held up in Brittany's house by the same psycho who took me, you know. She's not ok. She came to me for help."

Judy shook her head and tried once more. She reached towards Quinn's shoulder again, still smiling even after Quinn pulled back a second time, "but-"

"_No_, Mom!" she hissed, jerking out of her reach and stepping further away, her back pressing against her door. She stood as faar away from her poor excuse of a mother as she could get. "I don't care what you say about this. She's staying."

Judy just stared at her daughter for a long, hard, moment before turning on her heel in a huff and marching towards the stairs at the end of the hall. "I want her gone tomorrow," she called over her shoulder, voice high and light and aggravatingly polite. "Your sister is coming home in the afternoon. I don't need any extra _anything _going on while she's here."

Quinn rolled her eyes as her mother disappeared around the corner. "Why, yes _of course_, mother," she seethed to herself, "we wouldn't want that." She waited until she heard the front door slam shut and one of the cars start outside before turning around and heading back into her room.

Quinn slowly eased her door back open, leaning around the side and peering around her room without entering. "Hey, S?" she called.

Santana glanced back towards the door as Quinn stepped in, but didn't stop gathering her things from the floor or hastily trying to put the bed, which she'd destroyed in her tumble, back together at the same time. "I heard her," she said, voice tight, "I'm leaving. Don't worry."

"Don't be ridiculous, Santana," Quinn chided with a sharp shake of her head, shutting the door with a loud click, watching Santana to make sure she heard it.

"But," Santana failed to comprehend, and Quinn felt another stab of hatred flare up towards her mother, "your mom said-"

"I told her you were staying," Quinn made her way to the center of the room where Santana was standing uncertainly and took the keys from her friend's still cold fingers. Setting the keys wordlessly down on her bedside table, she turned back around and wrapped her hand around Santana's. Leading her back to the bed, she forced her to side down and then sat beside her. "You came here for a reason," she reminded gently, "you need to talk to somebody."

Santana's eyes dropped to the floor again and she licked her lips, "I-" her voice cracked and she paused to clear her throat, "I can't. You just wouldn't understand, ok? I'm sorry."

Her reasoning was getting old, fast, but Quinn hadn't been able to get even this much out of her before, so she chanced another push, just praying she wouldn't lose it and punch Santana straight in her stupid little face. "That's fine if you don't want to talk to me, we can just sleep," she would've laughed at the suggestions if she didn't think she'd end up crying instead- it seemed like she was never going to get to bed, "but you need to talk to someone before whatever this is all about eats you alive."

The sudden vehemence that Santana responded with was actually shocking as she tore her hand out of Quinn's grasp and jumped up, stumbling clumsily away from the bed. "_No one _fucking understands, Quinn! So who am I supposed to talk to?"

Quinn just blinked up at her and stared for a moment as Santana began pacing. "Brittany," she responded a single beat later. Who else would be better?

Santana's pacing halted for just a second, just long enough for her to turn in the opposite direction, giving Quinn a nice view of nothing but her back. "Brittany doesn't want to talk to me."

Quinn was honestly shocked. Santana no longer sounded angry, but pathetically sad, broken, and just as lost as Brittany had looked over the last few weeks. For a brief moment, Quinn wondered if she'd somhow misinterpreted what had been happening, but then she remembered Brittany wandering around the school without watching or even caring where she was going, and she got mad again.

She stood up and then threw her hands in the air. "Santana, don't be dense," she all but shouted, "of course she does!"

"Well, she shouldn't!" Santana spun around, her eyes full of tears and so sad that Quinn actually took a step back.

"You're being ridiculous," she tried again, "she-"

"She wasn't even there! Alright?" Santana interrupted with a shout before completely dissolving into tears, her entire body shaking. "She doesn't even know," she stopped to try and wipe her eyes, failing miserably as more tears fell. "I-I never told her what I-" Quinn didn't know what to think as a choked sob escaped Santana's lip and she crimpled to the ground, "I just can't-"

Quinn just watched her, stuck somewhere between concerned and completely confused. Santana had pulled herself into a ball again, covering the back of her head with her hands and burying her face between her knees as she gasped for breath. "Santana," Quinn reached out helplessly with her hand, stopping just short of Santana's heaving back. Sighing, she sat down beside her instead and pulled her own knees up to her chest, resting her cheek on her knees so her head was turned towards Santana. "Tell her what?" she pressed gently, only receiving a shake of the head in response. "Come on," she placed a hand on Santana's shoulder, hoping it was at least somewhat comforting, "what happened?"

The seconds stretched on into minutes of uncomfortable silence, the only sound being Santana's pitiful sniffling into the back of her hand as she desperately fought to keep more tears at bay.

"Look, Santana," Quinn withdrew her hand and shifted to better face her friend. When Santana refused to meet her gaze, she reached forward and forcibly pulled Santana's hands away from her still wet face. "I'm going to be completely honest with you for a second, ok?" she waited until Santana nodded before going on, actually _pleading _with her to absorb what she was about to say. "You can be as miserable as you want, you have that right. You think you can handle whatever this is by yourself? Fine. Good for you. Just great, actually. I couldn't, and Brittany isn't. Can't, or won't, she's shut down. I don't know why, but she just wants you. Haven't you seen her?" then she stopped and actually laughed out loud, ignoring the pointed look Santana gave her. It was cruel, but she needed to get her point across, "because _you've _had your head too far up your butt to see what's going on around you. What you're doing to people." She stopped to let it all sink in, but Santana still refused to say anything.

"She's a wreck, Santana," Quinn sighed, "she doesn't talk, doesn't smile. She won't dance, or do _anything _anymore, unless one of us is there to remind her. We all take turns walking her to class because, if we didn't, she would just stand out by your locker all day, waiting for you to come back. She thinks she did something wrong, and that you're mad at her, or hate her, or something like that."

"_What_?" that finally got Santana's attention. What Quinn had been trying to say the whole time finally sunk in and she shook her head, desperately trying not to believe it. "No. That isn't it- _she _should be the one who hates _me_!"

Quinn kept Santana's hands grasped firmly in her own when she tried to pull away, "why?"

"Because!" was the only argument she got. Santana struggled for a moment, both with Quinn's grasp around her hands and within herself. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she mumbled quietly, resigning to sit back down.

Quinn dropped Santana's hands and physically pushed them back into her lap in disgust. "You know _what_? I'm seriously _this _close to slapping you in the face right now!" she held up her thumb and forefinger to show just how close that was. There wasn't any space left between the two fingers. Santana regarded Quinn closely for a moment, trying to gauge the actual threat to her physical wellbeing, but remained silent even after she decided Quinn probably really would hit her. "Stay miserable then, I don't care," Quinn spat honestly, standing up and straightening out her pajamas, "just know that you're messing her up too."

"What are you doing?" Santana asked stupidly as Quinn turned around without another word and started to climb across the bed, pulling the corner of the blanket back.

"I'm going to sleep," Quinn snapped, laying down with her back to Santana. She made sure to leave enough for Santana to crawl in beside her, but didn't really care if she did or not any longer, "and if you're going to join me, at least take your sneakers off this time!"

It was hardly a minute later when she felt the mattress dip and Santana shuffled carefully closer to her, her breath held and body tense in preparation for Quinn to snap at her again. Quinn, however, was far too tired to care at all, and did her best to just ignore Santana. The light was still on, but she couldn't find an ounce of will to care and let her eyes flutter shut.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Santana had never felt so nervous walking up to Brittany's door before in her life. She had actually never felt nervous at _all _walking up to Brittany's door before, not even the very first time she visited- she'd never had any reason to be nervous. The Pierce's were all very nice people, they had loved her like their own daughter and always welcomed her in with open arms ever since that day Brittany had dragged her in by the pinky in the third grade. But now she was terrible that they might not anymore, that they would no longer look at her that same way. Not after what she'd done.

It was just that she hadn't spilled grape pop on the expensive carpet in the dining room this time. This time she had brought something terrible into their house, and done terrible things herself- it was so much worse than that time she had spilled grape pop on that stupid white carpet. She'd been shocked when Mrs. Pierce forgave her for that accident, so there was no way they'd forgive her for this.

Only her need to see Brittany again, to talk to her even just one more time to make sure that all of those things Quinn had said weren't true, that propelled her forward up their front walk. She just had to make sure Brittany, her beautiful inside and out best friend, wasn't broken. That she didn't break her. Even then, it took her a good five minutes to work up the courage to knock on the Pierce's door.

She waited in agonizing silence and knocked two more times before finally resorting to ringing the doorbell, something Brittany had hated ever since they were kids. There had been some absurd reason for it, Santana remembered, it scared away the good fairies that lived in the garden and protected the house, or something like that- she couldn't exactly remember anymore, but she'd made it a habit it to avoiding ringing the doorbell whenever possible since they were eight and still did her best to follow it. She was just about to get up and go around to the back to get all Romeo and Juliet on the house by tossing pebbles at Brittany's window when she heard the door unlatch and creek open.

Emily, in the same lacey black dress that she wore to her grandmother's funeral the year before and her hair in two long golden braids, stood in the open gap of the door, peering out at Santana cautiously from inside. "Hey Em," Santana tried to sound cheerful as she hopped up onto her tiptoes to get a peek inside- the damn kid was going to be taller than Brittany soon, but it was too dark inside to see anything anyway.

Santana smiled, but Emily didn't smile back. The little girl just narrowed her eyes that matched Brittany's oh so well and gave Santana a careful once over. "So," she drawled over, her big blue eyes looking away and out at the front yard suspiciously before going back to Santana's face, "can I help you with something, or what?"

"Is-" Santana stopped, thrown off guard by how weird and detached Emily was being. Normally she had to bribe the kid off of her leg with promises of candy and a special movie night or make over later. Now it was like Emily suddenly didn't even know who she was. Figuring Emily was just probably mad at her for not being around like normal, and this was her form of a cold shoulder, Santana shook her head and tried to fight off the feeling of dread settling in the pit of her stomach. "Is, uh…" she wracked her brain for the words that seemed impossible to find, "is your sister home?"

Emily glanced back over her shoulder, presumably to look around for her, "which one?"

"Which one?" Santana echoed dumbly, watching Emily nod her head expectantly. Now she was taking the whole cold shoulder thing a little too far. First off, Santana had never once come to visit Hannah, the oldest Pierce daughter, plus she didn't even know she was home from college, and, most importantly, Hannah hated her with an undying passion. Ever since she had broken her prized ballerina music box in the fifth grade- which had totally, most definitely, been an accident, and not revenge for Hannah making Brittany cry the night before. "Em-"

"Stop calling me that!" Emily suddenly snapped, her little hands balled up into fists by her sides and face turning red.

"Ok," Santana nervously stepped back and held her hands up, becoming more confused and disorientated by the second. She just really needed to talk to Brittany. Something was wrong, more wrong than she'd imagined. "I'm sorry, Em- Emily, really. Can I just-" Emily continued to glare at her, even as her vision began to blue, she could still see her angry little eyes, "I just need to talk to Brittany. Please?"

Suddenly, Santana's stomach lurched and she stumbled towards the grass in case she vomited.

"Brittany!" she heard Emily call into the house, "some girl's here to see you!"

"Santana?" she forced her eyes open in response and was happy to find that the world had stopped threatening to turn upside down, but was shocked to find Brittany looking at her skeptically from inside the door and with tears tracked across her cheeks.

"Britt, oh my god, are you ok?" she asked frantically, stepping forward towards the house again and reaching out for her best friend. Brittany jerked back out of her reach, knocking into the door and pushing it open some more, "Britt, what's wrong?"

Brittany rolled her eyes like Santana did whenever she thought something was really stupid; she'd been trying to teach Brittany to do that for years with no success, and it was extremely unnerving to see Brittany pull it off so flawlessly. "What do you care?" she sneered.

"What?" Santana asked, completely lost at the burning hostility coming from her blonde counterpart.

"Forget it," Brittany snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, "what do you want?"

Santana shook her head, trying to get a grasp on whatever was going on with Brittany, and apparently Emily too, who she could see watching her from the bedroom window upstairs. Her silhouette caused her to do her a double take, even though she wasn't quite sure why. "I, um…" her eyes darted between the two sisters, not quite sure what to say. This wasn't what she had been expecting, this wasn't even what Quinn had said it would be like- her stomach began to twist again and she actually felt the color drain from her face. Why was she there again? She couldn't remember. Brittany just looked so mad, like she knew she'd be, like she told Quinn, but there was something else there too. Something that frightened Santana, even though she couldn't understand it.

"I thought I made it pretty clear that I never wanted to see you again," Brittany impatiently spat, looking down and examining a loose thread at the bottom of her shirt, picking at it idly.

"You never-"

"My father is dead, Santana."

Santana's heart skipped and her breathing stopped. It just wasn't possibly- nobody had told her that- when did that happen? A thousand more questions ran through Santana's head, but she faily to open her mouth to ask even one. Instead, she was trapped staring into ice blue eyes for what felt like the first time in her whole life. An unforgiving hatred seeped into her soul and made her uncomfortably cold.

Brittany stepped forward and Santana found herself stumbling back into the grass again, afraid of the contact she'd come craving. "I can't believe you would come here, on today especially! Just felt like rubbing it in some more, huh?" Brittany shouted, causing Santana to flinch as if she'd been hit. She tried to argue, but her throat was closed and tears were prickling at the backs of her eyes.

"Rubbing it in that he _died _for you? That because of you, he'll never see me graduate, or my little sister go to high school? Go to her first dance? She cries _every _night, Santana, and it's all your fault! So, while we really appreciate you coming today, you can go. I'll let my mom know that you said hi, unless you want to do something to take her away from us too."

Santana shook her head again, the tears running freely down her face. Nothing made sense. She turned to run but stopped at the sight of all the cars in the driveway and lined up and down the street. She swore those weren't there before. Behind her she could hear the muffled sounds of talking, hesitant laughing and glasses clinking. She turned back around towards Brittany, the door had been pushed open further, so Santana could see the masses of people milling about inside; including her own parents, and Mrs. Pierce, all three of whom were glaring at her from the kitchen.

Brittany sighed and leaned against the door way, shaking her head and looking tired, "I just can't believe you'd show your face here today. I've always known you were selfish, but-"

"I just-" Santana jumped to explain, her voice cracking.

"What?" Brittany pressed immediately, "you know- just stop. Stop and go away. I don't care what you have to say."

"Brittany, I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this-"

"Well it did, and it's your fault! My dad's gone, Santana. He's dead and he's never coming back. I never get to see him again, and it's all because of _you_. If you'd just listened- If you hadn't ever come to my house at all that night- if you just weren't so damn nosey all the time, then none of this would've happened! If you'd just stayed out of my life, I could still be happy," Brittany's shoulders shook as tears erupted down her face, "I hate you, Santana. This is all your fault, my dad's dead because of you, and-"

The twisting in her stomach became a stabbing ache and her head pounded and all she wanted to do was run, but she just found herself standing there as she took everything Brittany threw at her. Words of disappointment and promises to never forgive or forget, shouts that she should be ashamed, and nothing Santana could do about any of it. When Brittany shoved her to the ground she didn't even feel it, she was numb. Gone.

"I never want to see you again!" It was a threat that chilled her to the bone and put an icy cold fist around her heart that squeezed until she couldn't breathe, even after she was shaken back awake.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Santana's eyes snapped open with a gasp and Quinn immediately pulled back, pretending not to notice as Santana desperately tried to wipe away the tears still on her face and regain control over her breathing. While Santana continued to try and collect herself, Quinn idly wondered if this was how Rachel had felt all those times she'd been responsible for waking _her _up from her nightmares- mildly annoyed, but mostly concerned and wanting so badly to help, but not knowing how. Or, worse, knowing that there was actually nothing she could do to help but watch Santana suffer.

Once Santana had stopped shaking and looking like she was about to be sick all over her bedspread, Quinn moved closer again and reached for one of her hands. "Are you good now?" she knew that Santana was not, by any means, ok- but she had to make sure her friend was at least grounded. That she knows where she is. Safe.

Surprisingly, and with a strength and speed Quinn had never herself possessed so shortly after having an episode, Santana pulled away and then jumped of the bed without answering first. "I have to go see Brittany," she explained frantically, "before it's too late."

Quinn's dread was quickly replaced with confusions when she looked at the clock as she scrambled to follow Santana off the bed, her sleep limbs hardly cooperating. "Not that I'm not thrilled that you've finally come to your senses about talking to Brittany or anything," she said loud enough for Santana fumbling through the dark on the other side of the room to hear, but not too loud, in case her mother had returned some time while they were sleeping, "but it's 4 n the morning. Brittany is still asleep. Just like _we _should be."

"I don't care," Santana responded immediately, distracted, squinting in search for her jacket or left sneaker, "I'll wait outside her house until she wakes up."

Quinn shook her head, "you're insane."

Santana, however, wasn't listening. Not really. She made a thoughtful noise of acknowledgement, but Quinn could tell she didn't really hear her. "It's freezing out," she tried to reason again, "just because it's stopped snowing-"

"I'll climb through her window then," Santana snapped, blinking rapidly against the light from the lamp Quinn just flicked on, "it's not like I haven't done it before. She always leaves it unlocked for me." Secretly, Santana hoped that would still remain true. That her standing invitation was still open- it'd only ever been locked on two occasions when she tried to go through before, once when Santana accidentally let Lord Tubbington out and he was lost for three days, and the other time was when she forgot Brittany was spending the weekend at her cousin's house.

"You're being completely ridiculous," Quinn insisted, reaching out and taking the sneaker from Santana's hand.

"No," Santana pushed at Quinn's arm and snatched the shoe back, "_you're _being ridiculous, Quinn. I haveto go. I _have _to talk to Brittany!"

"Don't be stupid, Santana," Quinn took the sneaker back again and swatted Santana's hand away when she went to try and grab it back again, "it's the middle of the night. You can't go over there now, everyone in her house will be asleep. You're being ridiculous," she repeated, hoping that Santana would understand. Unfortunately, she did, but it didn't seem like she cared.

"Then _when _Quinn?" Santana shouted suddenly, making Quinn jump and only then realize they'd been talking in loud whispers up until that point, "if not now, when? You don't understand, I _need _to see her. I need to explain- I have to let her know how sorry I am!"

"Santana stop," Quinn dropped the shoe and grabbed Santana's frantically waving hands, forcing them to her sides and holding them there. "Look," she waited until Santana actually looked her in the eye before continuing, "I'll take you to her house before school tomorrow, ok?" Santana looked at her skeptically, pulling at the hands still pinning her wrists down, but not pulling away. "First thing in the morning, ok? I won't even shower first. But it's 4 am- Brittany won't be awake for _at least _another hour, right?" Santana shrugged reluctantly. She didn't want to admit Quinn was right.

Santana pulled at Quinn's hands again, testing her hold a little more, but Quinn squeezed tighter. "Ok," she mumbled finally, rolling her eyes, "but first thing."

"First thing," Quinn agreed, finally releasing her hold. "Reset the alarm and let's go back to sleep."

"5:30?" Santana asked uncertainly as Quinn laid back down. Quinn grunted in response and yanked the blanket over her head, immediately closing her eyes. The mattress shifted under Santana's added weight when she sat down, and a second later the lights turned off again. Quinn hummed happily and let her body relax.

Just as she started to feel the lull of sleep carrying her gently away into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness again, Santana mumbled her name, causing her to jolt back awake. "Quinn," Santana repeated a little louder, rolling over to face Quinn. Quinn could feel Santana's eyes on her through the blanket, watching for any sort of reaction. She tried to keep her breathing even and body relaxed, but Santana continued anyway, "I-I almost left her."

That got Quinn's full attention and she sat upright, throwing the covers off of herself and turning to look down at Santana.

Santana's dark eyes were hazy and unfocused, trained on the same ceiling that still sometimes gave Quinn nightmares when it morphed into bare wooden planks in her head. Santana was looking towards the ceiling, but Quinn knew she was seeing something else entirely. Something else that those people watching on television that night, and ever since, were never going to understand.

Quinn had given her fair share of interviews since her release from the hospital, and she knew Santana had had a few of her own too, not that she'd watched any of them herself- her own or Santana's. People across the country probably tuned in to both of their stories whenever they were featured, but this, this pain and suffering in the middle of the night, this was only their pain to share. Nobody else could have this.

"That's what I- I did, Quinn. That's what I can't tell Britt," Santana's voice quivered, but she kept going, never looking away from the ceiling or chancing even a glance at Quinn for fear of losing her resolve to finally get it out. "I tried to leave her. And Emily and Mr. Rich. There was a second-" she squeezed her eyes shut at the memory and against the tears threatening to start again, "Sanders turned around and- and I just ran," she let out a single choked sob before completely dissolving into tears that shook her whole body, "I ran and would've left her. I would've left Brittany."

Santana rolled over and buried her face in the pillow, and, just like that, she was lost. Lost in that night like Quinn had been afraid she'd be lost in the Sander's basement for the rest of her light. Trapped in a memory that was worse than any nightmare, and no one but a friend to hold on to.


End file.
